Foundation
by OpheliaKitt
Summary: It is the imprint of others that helps form who we are. For the young marksman, it would be those early years in battle that set the foundation for the man he would become. Set pre-series.
1. Chapter 1

The battle was over. He looked out at the field of dead and dying men and wondered if this would ever get easier. He'd been serving in the army for a few years now, but as he wiped the blood from his sword, he doubted he would ever really be comfortable taking lives.

The sounds of the dying men echoed around him. The men he killed – the men trying to kill him, he corrected – lay scattered around him. It was better not to look too closely at the faces; it was easier if you didn't see someone you knew.

He checked himself over quickly as he began the long trudge back to camp. His hands were bloody but other than that he was lucky this time.

He paused at a vast bowl that had been erected as a communal bath. The water was still relatively clean, so he plunged his arms into the basin and washed the blood of other men from his hands. He stared at them briefly as the pink rivulets fell from his fingertips. He crossed himself and said a brief prayer for forgiveness for himself and those who had died, and joined the queue shuffling towards the camp stoves in the bleak hopes of better rations than the previous few days.

"Hey! Kitten!" called a large man as he pulled the younger man ahead of him in the line. The others didn't say anything under this big man's glare. "Still managed to hang onto your nine lives I see."

"Better than you, Gaston" he replied glancing at the bandage that was wound around the giant's bicep.

"It's a just a scratch," he said, mussing the younger man's hair.

He scowled slightly as he ran his fingers through his dark curls. The older man laughed.

"Still think you're too pretty to be a soldier. Surprised you've lasted this long, frankly. I'd have thought a face like yours would stand out from a mile away. A bloody beacon for jealous enemy fire."

The younger man laughed. "I'm only here to develop my reputation as the romantic hero – stockpiling anecdotes to tell the beautiful ladies of the salons of Paris." This brought another laugh to the large man as he pushed the younger man along in the line.

oOo

Gaston had come across the young man, Aramis he had introduced himself as, a few years ago. He was a scrappy thing then, barely more than 16, and he was fighting a man nearly twice his size and age. He was getting beaten, and badly. The man he was fighting was a bastard that Gaston was well aware of and spared little thought for, but he, like the others, stood to watch this little pantomime of David and Goliath playing out before them.

Aramis' lip was bloody and his cheek had started to bruise. He had his left arm curled protectively around his ribs. The larger man showboated for the crowd as Aramis staggered back to his feet. The older man sneered and made to grab the lad. Aramis darted under the outstretched arms and delivered a hard punch to the man's lower ribs, which made his opponent gasp in surprise at the impact. He swung wildly and Aramis leapt back out of the man's reach. Another wild swing and Aramis avoided that too, coming up behind the brute. He kicked behind the man's kneecap so he came crashing down upon it with a howl.

Aramis circled to the front; a kick to the side of the other knee was accompanied by a sickening crack. The large man howled again and dropped his arms to grasp at his ailing legs. He lowered his chin, and Aramis' fist made contact with the man's temple with as much force as the plucky lad could muster. The older man went down with a crash and the audience roared its approval.

The crowd broke up quickly. Though brawling was inevitable in a camp full of men, if you were caught, you were punished. The large man was carried away by a group of his cronies and Aramis was left standing alone. One man lingered behind for a moment and looked at the boy, but then turned and walked away.

Gaston watched the young man as he staggered, stumbled, and then fell to the ground and moved no more. Scooping the boy into his arms, he carried him to his area of the camp. His camp mates had the fire going and were passing around a wineskin as Gaston approached.

"What's that?" asked Michel.

"Looks like Gaston found us a kitten," laughed Javier as Gaston smirked and lay the boy down on his own cloak and bedding.

oOo

A few hours later, the boy's lashes fluttered as he awoke to the campfire and the faces of three strange men. He scrambled backwards instinctively.

"Whoa, Kitten, whoa," said Michel. "We ain't gonna hurt ya." Aramis stopped, but his head swivelled from man to man. "Calm down before ya hurt yourself."

Slowly, Aramis eased back onto the bedroll near the fire. He took the water that was handed to him, but shook his head at the food.

"Eat. You'll need it," said Javier with a grin, forcing the bowl into Aramis' hands. "I'm Javier – Javi – and this is Michel. Your knight in shining armour over there is Gaston."

Michel was an older man who hid kind eyes behind fair scraggly hair and a wry sense of humour. Javier had the easy jovial manner of a gambler. His dark eyes, hair and tawny skin tone hinted at his Spanish descent. He smiled at the younger man who eyed him warily.

The boy scowled. "I'm not a damsel in distress."

"Yer pretty enough to be," said Michel with a grin. "But no, we figured you're more of a Kitten."

"Apparently one with claws. Gaston told us about your fight," Javier said with a raised eyebrow. "Heard you took quite a beating, but came out on top."

"I'm fine," said Aramis as he swallowed a grimace and fought to keep his breathing even. He looked at Gaston who had so far said nothing, his green eyes just observing the interaction.

"Of course you are, Monsieur Fine. Why don't you tell us why you're looking to give up one of your nine lives by taking on a man twice your size?"

"Aramis," he said. "My name's Aramis. And I didn't go looking for a fight."

"No? It just found you, did it?" said Michel.

Aramis winced as he shifted his position. His head was throbbing but the pain in his side was agonizing. "He kept picking on Gerome. Kept saying awful things about his sister. I was brought up to respect women, to never say the kind of things he was saying. It's ungentlemanly. Someone had to teach him a lesson."

The other men grew silent. Incredulity was written on Michel and Javier's faces.

"Good," said Gaston firmly. "Glad you did it."

Aramis looked at the large man, surprised.

"Where'd you learn to fight?" Gaston asked.

"Where I had to," replied the boy with a shrug that made him wince.

The large man paused and looked at the boy. "You can stay with us," he said. "Javier, go fetch his things." Javier rose and with a grin at the lad, he strode away.

"Take your shirt off," Gaston said. Aramis eyed him suspiciously.

"It'll be easier for me to bind your ribs," he explained.

Aramis did as he was told and the two older men hissed when they saw his naked torso. His chest looked like a patchwork quilt. The results of the day's beating were obvious, but other fading welts of purple, brown and green also littered his skin.

"Apparently I have a problem with obedience," he said with a grimace as he shrugged his shoulders.

Gaston bit the inside of his cheek and began binding the ribs. Michel passed Aramis the wineskin.

"Here," he said, "This'll help."

ooooooooooooo

 _ **A/N: Well, there's chapter one. I've been thinking a lot about where our heroes came from and what made them the men that they are. I apologize in advance for what I'm sure will be my lack of research into the history and geography of France. My only justification is that I got caught up in the story as it came to me, and I hope you will too, forgiving any factual errors. I guess that's why this is fiction though, right? Facts don't matter :-P**_

 _ **As always, I love to hear from you with any feedback! Hope you enjoy!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thanks for all the sweet feedback! Glad you're enjoying this so far! TBH, not too sure where I'm going with this yet...let's find out together, shall we? :-)**_

oooooooooooooo

* * *

More than three years had passed since they met and Gaston had watched out for Aramis. To be honest, the lad had saved his life a number of times too.

They had lost Michel in a bloody skirmish about a year ago, but had gained another three men to their campfire, though two of them had been killed a few months back. But that was life on the battlefield. It was easier not to grow too close to anyone.

Aramis was by now a formidable soldier in his own right – something that brought him all kinds of attention, and not always positive. The men in charge quickly learned of Aramis' skill with a rifle – a talent he had said he had acquired shooting nuts from the trees of his father's property. This had Aramis often sent out on marksman assignments. Gaston was glad of this because it meant that in those cases, Aramis was often a little removed from the bedlam, even if only for the start of the battle. It also meant though that he was often alone or with only one other - practically defenceless if the enemy wised up to his location.

Their General, Marchand, a pompous and noble-bred moron of a general, had taken a strong dislike to the young marksman. He was a man who held the highest opinion of himself and his own abilities and played at war as if the lives of his men were expendable. Mostly, he was immature, impatient and jealous, and the young, brave, handsome and talented common-born marksman pushed all his wrong buttons. He took a grim pleasure in placing Aramis in the most dangerous sharpshooter positions, when he wasn't embroiled in attacks with the other members of the army, and he seemed slightly disappointed each time Aramis returned alive.

In one such instance, Gaston and Javier waited for hours for their Kitten to return until a call to sortie had them routing a surprise attack by the enemy. After that battle the two men searched every medical tent for the lad. They had been sitting morosely by their fire, each lost in their own grief at the death of the buoyant and affable young man, when he flung himself down on his bedroll and brightly asked if there was anything good served for supper that night. Gaston shook the lad and Javier beamed at him.

He explained to them about what had happened – Marchand had sent a few of them into an ambush of sorts where they were outnumbered. Aramis survived and was able to learn of the pending attack. He laughingly admitted to collapsing into the arms of a Captain named Treville.

He gushed about the Captain – his stern command and the bright mind that was rare in most officers. How the Captain seemed to be loved by his men and how he had a way of issuing orders but not speaking down to his men – how he commanded respect and returned it.

"He says he may have a role for me after this war is over," he said.

"Looks like our Kitten has taken a fancy to someone new. Fickle, ain't he," said Javier with a wink.

"Don't be jealous," said Aramis with a grin as he lay back and covered his face with his hat and drifted immediately to sleep.

oOo

Aramis' cavalier attitude and zest for life seemed almost out of place among the trenches of battle, but it won him friends, and brightened the spirits of others. If he was to come into his own in and amongst this desolation and death, Gaston was glad that the lad had chosen life, and not the despair that strangled so many.

Of course, Aramis wasn't all smiles and winks and laughter. Violence overtook him on the battlefield. He was a weapon, a machine. He killed with deadly accuracy, both with his rifle and without. He was never cruel, and did not take pleasure in it, but it was his job and he was good at it. Very good at it.

Aramis knew it was strange to the other men in his regiment, but he liked spending time at the medics' tent. He watched the medics stitch other men back together, treat fever, splint bones, or just offer company to those whose injuries were beyond their control. A few of the more patient medics had taken an interest in the young man and had gone so far as to teach him to stitch flesh, splint limbs and in one grizzly incident, taught him how to remove a musket ball – true, the man was already dead, but the physician swore the practice was the same, and if it saved a life one day, what was the harm in teaching the lad?

After battle he would slip off and help where he could – stitching and binding wounds, though more often than not, Gaston would find him closing the eyes of the deceased in the medical tent, saying a prayer over their bodies or clutching their hands and whispering words of comfort to those who would not live to see another day.

After the first few times Gaston had caught him at this, he sat the young man down and asked him why he did it.

"Why take on more grief when we are surrounded by death every day?" he asked.

Aramis looked at him blankly. "It's what I hope someone may do for me one day," he said simply. He rubbed the back of his neck and pulled out a cross and a set of rosary beads from his pocket. "This is all I have left from my mother," he said. "I believe that when we die, God will judge us by our deeds in this world."

"Even though we kill people," Gaston said bluntly.

Aramis smiled softly. "I believe that God has made me a soldier. We kill people, yes, but we don't murder. I do my duty for my country, with no malice, in defence of my own life or the lives of others. I believe that when called before God, if my heart is good, he may be able to forgive me. That is what my faith tells me."

oOo

It was the end of another grim and grizzly day. Gaston was returning to his friends at the campfire. His expression was dark.

Aramis and Javier looked up at the man as he towered over them.

"Everything alright, mon ami?" asked Javier with a grin from his bedroll.

Gaston shook his head. "General Marchand wants to see you both," he said.

Aramis and Javier exchanged surprised glances. They understood Gaston's worry.

"Maybe he'd like to congratulate us for something?" said Aramis with a grin as he leapt to his feet.

"Unless we've secretly won a beauty pageant, I can't imagine what he'd congratulate us for," said Javier also rising.

"Come now, Javier. If there was a beauty pageant, why would he want to see you too?" quipped Aramis as he grinned at the other's laughter. His dark eyes sparkled with humour and mischief as the older man grinned.

"One day, all the charm that your silver tongue can muster won't be enough to save you," he said with a laugh.

Aramis clapped Gaston on the shoulder and gave him a grin as he and Javier made their way towards the General's tent.

oOo

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I make a reference to this meeting with Treville in my other story, Orders. It takes place years after this one and tells of Athos' inclusion in the Musketeers. Thanks for being so awesome and supportive!**


	3. Chapter 3

Javier and Aramis entered the tent and were surprised to see two other men also standing awkwardly in front of the General's desk.

"It's about time the two of you joined us. Apparently a command from your General isn't a high priority for you," Marchand said peevishly. Javier scowled and Aramis bit his cheek to keep himself silent. His dark eyes flashed dangerously.

Marchand glowered at the men as he looked down his nose at them. He sipped his glass of wine and picked at the fruit and cheese laid out on the corner of his desk as the men awaited his instructions. When he had sufficiently lorded his opulence over them, the aristocratic general regarded his men.

"I have chosen you four to complete a special mission for the Crown," he said. "You haven't been chosen for any particular skill or because you're particularly good soldiers. You've been selected because you've survived, and because at least one of your parents carried the mud of the Spanish in their veins," he said and sipped his wine arrogantly. "You will be sent to infiltrate a troop of Spaniards camped on French lands. There are rumours of a ship carrying weapons to support our enemies expected to make landfall. Confirm this and stop it," said the General with a careless wave of his hand.

The men were silent as they stared at their commander.

"How do you expect us to do that?" muttered one man finally.

"I don't know," said the General, annoyed at being so casually addressed by the man. "They have a camp not far from here," he said pushing a map across the table. "Find it, and assume a place among their ranks. Learn what you can of this ship, and return with that information. Get them to trust you. If you are captured, the Crown will deny any knowledge of you. If you kill any Frenchmen, you will be hanged as traitors," he callously said.

"You expect us to spy for you?" the same man asked after another long moment of silence.

"Is the country you serve not worth that? Besides, I believe that lies and the unsavoury are the hallmarks of your kind," Marchard replied malevolently.

Javier was just about ready to strike the General, but Aramis subtly touched the man's wrist.

"Where is the ship expected to make landfall?" he asked, stepping forward and taking the map from the General's desk.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't need you. Honestly, how have you survived so long being so ignorant?" he asked. Aramis said nothing but his eyes burned.

"Sir," said the fourth man, raising his hand. "I was raised in an orphanage. I didn't know my parents. I don't speak the language, sir," he stammered.

"Pity. I suggest you learn quickly," he said as he refilled his glass.

The man paled and Aramis stepped forward again. "Sir, if this mission is to succeed, you need to excuse this man. His inability to converse will jeopardize everything."

"Perhaps you think you'll be able to do this on your own, do you?" Marchand asked, his eye glaring at Aramis.

"He won't be alone, sir," said Javier moving forward to stand next to Aramis. "I'll go with him."

"Me as well," said the third.

"Very well," said the General with a resigned sigh. "Gather your things. You are to set out in the morning."

oOo

Aramis and Javier were grim as they returned to camp and began packing their things.

"What happened?" asked Gaston, his eyes darkening with concern.

Javier said nothing, so with a sigh Aramis said, "They're sending us out as spies."

"What? Why?"

"Because we have Spanish blood. We're to try to infiltrate some Spanish troops and determine when and whether a ship bearing weapons to aid our enemy will make landfall in France," he said as he violently shoved his few items into his bag.

"How many men is he sending?" Gaston asked, his mind reeling as he tried to understand the insanity of these orders.

"Three," grumbled Javier.

Gaston stilled. What madness was this? The General was sending these men to their deaths on hardly more than a whisper of a rumour.

"This can't be," he rumbled.

Aramis stood and looked at his friend and gave him a sad smile. "It must be," he said. "We have orders. Our small number may make it easier for us to integrate with the troops. If it will help bring an end to this war, I will do it," he said, his dark eyes determined.

"No," growled Gaston. "I won't let you. You can't **_do_** this. It's suicide!"

"Thank goodness for Aramis' nine lives then, eh mon ami?" said Javier as he settled onto his bedroll by the campfire. "Come now, Gaston. If this is to be our last night together, let it not be one of anger."

Aramis grinned at Javier and took a seat next to him.

Gaston looked at these two men that he had grown so fond of and cursed himself. The key to surviving was to never grow attached, wasn't it? He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders and joined his companions by the fire as Javier spoke of the Spanish town he had been born in and his life before the war.

oOo

"Are you awake Kitten?" Gaston asked.

"When will you two stop calling me that?" Aramis muttered.

Gaston smiled sadly.

"What's bothering you?" Aramis asked.

"Perhaps I should be asking you the same question…"

Aramis sighed. "Just thinking about this mission. There's not a lot to go on," he said. Gaston nodded and waited. He knew there was more troubling the lad. "I wish Javier hadn't volunteered to come with me. This is suicide," he said and dropped his head.

"Javier going with you is the only reason I haven't marched into Marchand's tent and strangled him in his sleep," said Gaston bitterly. He stared at his young friend who smiled softly back at him. Gaston was struck by how truly young Aramis was; despite his years of combat, he was barely 20…

"Look Aramis, no matter what happens on this mission, you do what you need to in order to survive okay? You and Javier will need to defend each other. I'm not sure of this third travelling with you, but Javier is a good man. He will protect you, as I know you will protect him. Learn what you can, and get out of there. There is no honour in dying needlessly," he said.

Aramis shook his head. "What if the General's wrong and there is no ship? What if we're walking blindly into a trap?"

"You and Javier will have each other. You will never be alone Aramis. You may've got nine lives, but don't risk them! Have faith in yourself, have faith in your god and have faith in your brothers-in-arms."

They were silent for some time before Aramis whispered, "But who will watch out for you?"

Gaston laughed softly. "I'll be fine. I tend to pick up stray kittens. Javi was a kitten of mine too once. I've survived out here longer than I care to think about. I will be fine knowing that you two will defend each other."

Aramis looked at the large man and not for the first time he wondered how a veteran like this still had such room in his heart to take in so many strays like him and Javi. As he drifted off to sleep, Aramis could feel the hand of the large man gently stroking the hair from his face on his last night as the guardian of his friends.

oOo


	4. Chapter 4

Morning came too quickly as dawn crept across the tents, rosy beams of light pushing through the iron sky, as Aramis and Javier prepared to leave.

"Adios, mon ami," Javier said grinning as he and Gaston met in a warm embrace. "It's been an honour," he said.

"For me as well," said Gaston as Javier pulled away.

Aramis stepped forward to be embraced by the soft giant next.

"Take care, Kitten. Don't gamble with your lives. I have a feeling that there is much that you have yet to do. You're destined for great things Aramis," he whispered. "Take this," he said forcing a small bundle into his arms. Aramis looked confusedly at the package; Gaston mussed his hair.

"Look after each other," Gaston said as he turned away.

Aramis stared after the man, his dark eyes filling with tears. He quickly dropped his head to hide the traitorous tears behind his dark curtain of curls.

"Ready?" asked Javier as he hoisted his bag and bedroll onto his back. Aramis nodded and they proceeded across the camp to meet their third, neither man able to look back at the man who had been their protector and their home at this camp for years.

oOo

The man stood waiting for them and nodded in greeting as they approached.

"Good morning," said Javier, holding out a hand to the new man. "I'm Javier. This is Aramis," he said.

"Gustave – Gustavo, I guess now," he said, shaking their hands with a small smile.

"Well, ready to go home boys?" Javier asked with a grin, and without waiting for an answer, the three men set off away from the camp.

They marched in silence for a few hours until Javier called a halt for breakfast. Their rations weren't much, but they had been given better than the men still residing at camp. Some dried meat, hard cheese and a few other items were in a bag at Javier's side, including six bright apples. The men each grabbed an apple and savoured their sweet juices. It had been ages since any of them had eaten a piece of fruit.

"So, how did you two get chosen for this mission?" Gustavo asked as he bit into his apple. Gustavo was stocky with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few too many times. His thick dark moustache and dark curls added to the image of a man who spent a few too many evenings in a dark tavern as well.

"Because Marchand hates me," said Aramis nonchalantly.

"Because Marchand hates him," Javier agreed. Gustavo raised an eyebrow, and Aramis laughed.

"Honestly, I don't think Machand actually spared much thought on this one. It sounds like we're chasing the wind a bit," Aramis said thoughtfully.

"The only thing we know for sure is that each of us has got Spanish in our blood," said Gustavo, switching his language to Spanish with a grin. "My parents were Spanish, but I was born and raised in France. My father was a stable master for a nobleman who knew the value of a Spanish steed. I've never even been to Spain!" he said laughing bitterly.

Javier grinned, "Well I have you beat. I was actually born in Spain, but my father was a bit nefarious. He fled to France to escape a moneylender. Think I was five at the time."

"And you?" Gustavo asked Aramis.

Aramis hesitated. He was never sure how people would react to the story of his upbringing.

"My mother was Spanish. She fell in love with my father who was the son of a minor noble. He promised to marry her, but his family whisked him away when they found out. 9 months later, I arrived," he said with a small smile.

"You were raised by your mother?" he asked.

Aramis shrugged. "My mother was very beautiful…she did what she had to in order to provide for us; she died when I was 10. A few years later my father came to collect me...Let's say we didn't quite get along. I left when I was 16 and have been serving since."

"That explains a lot," said Javier thoughtfully. "Your over-emphatic sense of honour and what's right, the on-going issues with obedience...your pretty face and huge ego…" he said and slapped Aramis on the back. "There's nothing you need to be ashamed of lad. Your mother did what she had to and she raised a good lad."

Aramis grinned at the man and shrugged his shoulders again. He glanced over at Gustavo who grinned back.

"Right," said Javier, taking charge once more. "We need to get our cover straight for when we encounter our foe."

"You mean our countrymen," said Gustavo as they lifted their bags and set out back on the road.

oOo

They camped out on the road under a cluster of trees and a smattering of stars. It was almost like a balm to be away from the life at the enemy lines for the first time in years, and the men rested comfortably. Gustavo produced a small makeshift guitar and began to strum it softly.

Aramis removed the package that Gaston had given him and began to examine its contents. In the small satchel, Gaston had packed several roles of bandages, a needle and fine strong thread, a book and three packets. " _For pain"_ , was written on one, the contents of the herbal mixture written on the package. " _For fever",_ was written on the other, while " _For infection"_ was written on the third. Aramis's eyes glowed at his small makeshift medical kit. He reached for the book with its well-worn pages. It was a small bible that Aramis recognized from among Gaston's possessions. He stroked the cover and opened the book to read its inscription. " _Have faith and care for each other_ " was all it said. Aramis repacked the bag and smiled to himself. It seemed as though Gaston would continue to look after them after all.

The melody of Gustavo's song trickled over to Aramis and his heart leapt to his throat.

"This song," he said, his dark eyes filling with emotion, "I know it. My mother used to sing it to me." He smiled with watery eyes back at the moustachioed man who smiled and raised his voice a little.

Quietly, Aramis began to sing along.

oOo


	5. Chapter 5

They were moving again, early.

According to Marchand's map they should be reaching the enemy encampment the next day. There was some debate over how they would infiltrate the camp – whether they should enter by stealth or in the open. Either situation might draw suspicion, but the question remained as to what would be more forgivable.

They sat around the campfire again that night, Gustavo strumming quietly as Aramis and Javier played cards. They conversed in Spanish and Aramis was surprised by how easily it came to him. Only his mother had ever spoken to him in Spanish. A small voice kept echoing in his head, "Don't forget who you are."

They had just settled into their bedding for the night– the enemy was still supposedly a good day's march away, when suddenly they found themselves surrounded.

"¡Todos ustedes! Pongan sus manos en el aire!" someone shouted in the darkness.

"¡Tranquilamente! Tranquilamente hermanos," said Javier. With a pointed look at Aramis and Gustavo, the three men raised their hands slowly.

Their arms were pulled roughly behind their backs and bound. Sacks were dropped over their heads and they were pulled to their feet and made to march.

They marched for what seemed like hours. Aramis' wrists chafed against the tight ropes binding them. Finally they came to a clearing and were forced onto their knees. The light of the campfire stung their eyes as the hoods were unceremoniously pulled from their heads. Dawn was not far off on the horizon.

A man stood before them – a captain it seemed. He looked at his captives, studying them all. Their personal items were laid out on the floor in front of him. He eyed the weaponry, the medical satchel and Gustavo's small guitar curiously.

"Well," he said finally, "What do we have here?"

"We're seeking refuge," said Javier. "We had heard that there were Spanish troops in the area – "

A soldier struck Javier in the back of the head and he fell forward.

"I have no patience for liars," the man said, cocky his pistol and gesturing with it casually.

"It's true," cried Aramis shuffling forward. "We're performers! We travel from town to town performing for the locals. Gustavo sings and Javier runs a card game. But the people have become tense and untrusting since the war has drawn closer. We were cast out of the last two towns we stopped in. We were making for the border in order to rejoin our countrymen. It's no longer safe for a Spanish man in France," he said, settling his eyes on the Captain.

The man stared into the dark eyes of the young man before him, reading deeply. He smirked slightly.

"So, we have a singer and a con – pray tell what is it you do other than seduce the crowds," he said.

Aramis grinned. "I have a few other talents, but to show you, I will need my pistols."

The clearing went silent at this brazen announcement. Javier, Gustavo and the others stared at him, but Aramis did not break eye contact with the Captain.

The captain laughed. "You play a dangerous game, niño. Free his hands and bring him his pistols. For all of your sake, this trick had better be a good one."

The bonds were cut from Aramis' wrists and he shook the feeling back into his fingers. He boldly walked up to the Captain and plucked two empty wine bottles from the floor at his side. If the young man was nervous, he didn't show it, as he drew confidence like a cloak around him. He dropped a pebble inside each bottle and gave them a rattle and then passed them to the man who handed him his pistols. Priming the pistols he said, "When I give the word, toss the bottles as high as you can into the air and step back."

Aramis winked at Javier and Gustavo and tied the scarf that hung around his neck so it covered his eyes. He settled himself in the clearing, his pistols ready in his hands.

"Now!" he called and the Spanish soldier launched the bottles spinning into the air.

Aramis fired and shattered one bottle instantly which rained down in shards of glass. The men's eyes flickered from the blindfolded young man to the final bottle rushing to meet the ground as they watched. Finally Aramis fired just as the bottle was barely two feet from the ground shattering it to dust.

Aramis pulled down the blindfold and looked at the Captain. Two men grabbed his arms and pushed him forward knocking the pistols from his hands.

"Impressive little one," said the man. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"My father," Aramis answered honestly.

The Captain stared deeply into his eyes. "Release them, but take their weapons," he announced finally.

"My name is Captain Rodrigo. We welcome your service brothers. Rest now. It's been a long night. Hopefully we'll be able to find uses for you – perhaps the troops could use a minstrel," he said.

Aramis smiled at the others who were trying to hide their shock as they gathered their supplies onto their backs and followed their guards to a large tent with three cots in it. Three cots and a large wooden post with ropes tied to it in the middle of the space.

"It looks as though we might be guests...but also captives. Thank God for that silver tongue of yours, Kitten," muttered Javier as he flung himself onto the bed and tried not to look at the blood stained post.

"That was quick thinking – and quick shooting. Looks like we're in now. What's next?" said Gustavo.

"We're not quite in yet. We'll need to get to know the troops. Make ourselves popular. We should rest now. Who knows how long they'll give us or what they may make us do next."

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: As per my Google translator:**_

 _ **"¡Todos ustedes! Pongan sus manos en el aire!" - Everyone freeze! Put your hands in the air!**_

 _ **"¡Tranquilamente! Tranquilamente hermanos," - Calmly! Calmly brothers**_

 _ **niño - boy**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Thanks for all the favourites, follows and feedback so far! I love hearing from you - your feedback is really, truly appreciated. :)**_

* * *

They were roused after a few hours and roughly pulled to their feet.

It had begun to rain, but they were handed spades anyway and made to dig. Each man stood in front of a plot and began to lift the heavy mud, which to their frustration just re-pooled in the holes they were digging as the rain fell.

"What are we digging?" Javier growled after a few hours passed. His back was aching and they were coated from head to toe in the sludge.

"Your graves, gentlemen," said the Captain as he came towards them, his men laughing. "Let's hope you don't do something to require them," he warned as he nudged more wet earth back into Javier's hole with his boot. He left without another word.

Night fell and the cold began to sink in. Each man now stood in what was likely to be their final resting place. They were exhausted. Aramis' mud coated shirt clung to him. His young muscles ached, but he knew he was faring better than the other two.

"Time's up Francos," called one of the Spanish guards, a squat vile-looking man with a wide nose. "Pass us your shovels," he said.

The men relinquished their spades, but when Aramis made to climb out of his grave, a boot to the face from the squat guard sent him splashing backwards into its depths.

"Hey!" cried Javier and Gustavo, but were unable to do much else as pistols were suddenly cocked and aimed at them.

"Not so pretty now, is he?" the man called and the others laughed.

Aramis staggered to his feet. "Well, if you're all there is for comparison, then I'm short on competition," he said angrily as he wiped the mud from his face. The other men roared in laughter.

"Gentlemen," Javier said, "I'd appreciate it very much if you didn't damage the goods. If we ever get back on the road, we'll still need him to be pretty. You know noble French ladies go crazy for a Spaniard." The men laughed again.

"I like this one Diego, he's funny," said one of the other guards.

The squat guard, Diego, scowled. "Let's see how funny he is in a few hours. Cover them," he ordered and a heavy lattice was laid across the top of the three graves. "You should probably get comfortable down there," he sneered as he kicked out at Aramis again and walked away as the rain continued to fall.

"Are you alright?" Javier asked, his voice echoing from the depths of his grave.

Aramis felt for his cheekbone which he could tell would be bruised. "I'm fine," he said.

"Well this is an interesting way to include us in the group. We've essentially dug ourselves cells, if not our actual graves," said Gustavo.

"What's the difference?" Javier asked bitterly.

"Well, I guess if this rain keeps up and we drown, they'll have served for both purposes, will they not?"

Aramis and Javier laughed bitterly.

"Just keep moving the best you can. If you keep the blood flowing it's less likely that you'll catch a cold from exposure," Aramis said.

"Thank God I have good boots," came Gustavo's sarcastic reply floating over the tombs. The men began to pace in their cells, Gustavo singing softly as they marched.

oOo

Night was fading and the men held themselves in their graves desperate to retain any warmth they could. The rain died off as the sun rose and suddenly hands appeared above them.

"Catch," a voice said and a roll was dropped into each cell. The men made desperate grabs for the bread lest it be lost to the swamp they were now standing, sitting or squatting in.

Aramis tore into the bread but was startled suddenly as a large bucket of water was poured on top of him. He spluttered and brushed his sodden filthy hair from his eyes. The yelps next to him meant that Javier and Gustavo were suffering a similar fate.

"Come now," said a laughing voice from above them. "You were supposed to break them in, not drown them. Get them up."

The lattice was removed and arms reached down and pulled the three men from their tombs. Gustavo was shaking badly and Javier dropped to one knee. Aramis locked his knees in place but he could not suppress the tremble that rattled through his body. The new man looked at them and shook his head. "Draw them a bath, and get them some dry clothes. How can they be of use to us if they die first?" The men ran to do as the young officer bid them.

"We were only doing what the Captain commanded," said Diego, an edge to his voice.

"I'll be having a talk with Captain Rodrigo about what his specific instructions were. Somehow I don't think they were to drown our countrymen," the young officer responded with a raised eyebrow.

Diego growled. "They're Francos, Santi. They're only with us because the French drove them out."

"Then we should welcome them back with open arms," the man called Santi responded. Diego walked away muttering mutinously.

Santacruz or Santi, as he was known among his men, was a popular young soldier. He was the best swordsman amongst them and the Captain's second. He was tall and handsome with a slightly crooked smile and bright hazel eyes that shone from a narrow face. He kept his dark hair away from his face with a silk kerchief tied around his head. As Javier looked him over, he thought the man could have passed for Aramis' older brother – though he insisted that his Kitten was better looking.

The hot water had done wonders to revive the men. Aramis wrapped a towel around his waist as he stepped from the tub. He had never been shy, but felt himself growing uncomfortable as Santi circled them. He casually flipped a dagger in his hand as he stood next to Aramis while he dressed and examined his young and muscular physique. He was lean, yes, but growing up as he did in the trenches of war had honed every fibre into hard muscle. Santi examined Aramis like one would a horse before a race.

"You three have amassed some impressive scarring for performers," he said to them as the men dressed.

Javier grinned as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. "Our line of work can be dangerous. Gamblers don't always lose well," he said.

"Alright, Gambler," said the man with a smirk. "Singer, Gambler, and that makes you what? The Looker?" he asked Aramis with a laugh. "I hear you're quite a shot. I wonder if you're any good with a blade as well?" he asked and tossed Aramis a sword.

Aramis caught the blade and looked it, then looked at Javier. Santi would know in an instant that Aramis could wield a sword, but his official training had been rudimentary at best. Perhaps if he had stayed on at his father's or had been claimed by him earlier…Aramis shook his head to clear it. That life was dead to him now. He walked away from whatever claims he may one day have to his father's home and he would die before he went back.

"Well?" asked Santi, "Have you ever duelled before?"

Aramis smiled. "I've done what I needed to in order to survive. Not sure you'd call it "duelling", but I know the basics."

"Come. Let us see," Santi said and he moved away from the baths.

Aramis stood ready in the fencing stance he had been taught while under the brief tutelage he received in his father's home – a stance that was never applicable in real battle where the enemy didn't wait for you to be ready. Santi stood across from him, a feline smile curling his lips. Aramis was grateful that they were sheltered slightly behind the tents so there would not be many witnesses.

Santi sprang suddenly like a bullet from a pistol. Aramis had just enough sense to leap back and block him. Another parry met a riposte. Santi's movements were fluid and graceful. He was leading Aramis through a series of strokes as though they were dancing. Aramis was in slight awe as he moved quickly to match strokes.

"Very good," said Santi as Aramis blocked another blow that was aimed his way. "Now, attack!" he said.

Aramis did as he was told, delivering some fairly impressive blows of his own. Santi's eyes widened as he noticed Aramis attempting to replicate some of his own steps and flourishes.

"Very good! Very good! I see you're a fast learner," he said, then with a series of quick moves, he sent Aramis' sword flying. "Not quick enough yet. We'll work on that." He patted Aramis on the shoulder in a jovial way and Aramis returned the man's grin with a wide smile of his own, his face flushed with a hint of pride.

"Come, let's have you join the others. Javier, how is your hand-to-hand combat?" said Santi.

"Let's just say I've had my share of bar-room brawls," he said with a grin as the three men followed Santi across the camp.

As Aramis walked behind Javier and Santi, Gustavo reached out a hand and quietly muttered, "Be careful, Aramis. Don't get too comfortable. I can't help feeling that there's something off about him," and he shook his head and followed the others.

"Don't forget who you are," that little voice in Aramis' head reminded him.


	7. Chapter 7

Embedded in and amongst the other men, Gustavo, Javier and Aramis adjusted well. They walked through the training routines and joined each other for meals and at bed. Gustavo entertained the men by singing the Spanish folk ballads of his childhood while Javier began a card game among the men that sometimes led to a few bruised egos and a few bruised jawlines come morning.

Aramis and Santi bonded closely, sparring together whenever possible, always under the eye of the Captain who was never too far away. They were almost mirror images of each other. Aramis was quick to learn all he could about duelling from Santi. His steps grew more confident and his sword thrusts more accurate and deadly under the older man's kind encouragement.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Santi asked Aramis one day, panting and drawing away from him as they sparred. Aramis had grown quite skilled and the Spanish lieutenant was winded. "Holding another man's life in your hands?"

Aramis frowned slightly and lowered his sword. It was then that Santi pounced, driving Aramis back aggressively and knocking him bodily to the ground.

"Your mercy is your weakness, Aramis. It will get you killed one day," he said leering over the man, his blade at Aramis's throat, an animalistic expression on his face. "Let it go and you could be formidable," he said as he turned his back on the younger man and walked away.

Aramis stared after him, a look of confusion on his face as he tried to comprehend the truth to this lesson where Santi had left him in the dirt.

oOo

The trio had been living among the Spanish for a few weeks when rumours of a ship started to finally filter into the camp. One day, after a meaningful look over at Gustavo, Javier caroused the others for a quick discussion away from Spanish ears.

"So," he said, "Do we have anything we can report?" he asked quietly.

Gustavo shook his head. "I've heard only rumours. I could tell you all you needed to know about any of the men that grew up on the coast, but these are just soldiers, same as you and I. They don't know anything."

Javier nodded. "Thought so. And what about you? Has your prince charming let anything slip?" he said, his eyes rounding on Aramis.

Aramis looked startled and blushed. He shook his head. He and Santi never spoke about warfare. In fact Aramis had nearly forgotten about this mission they were supposed to be on. There was something about this competitive brotherhood he had stumbled upon; he liked the camaraderie of the camp.

Javier sighed. "Be careful Aramis. I know Santi seems excellent right now, but do you know what the others call him? Flora Diablo. Devil's flower. He'll charm you, then kill you," he said, warningly.

The animal-like sneer of Santacruz flashed through his mind, but Aramis forced it away.

oOo

The men were growing restless. They had been camped in this location for weeks, waiting for news from Spain. They had taken to fighting amongst themselves in order to vent their frustration and boredom.

One night the Captain approached his men, Santi at his side. "I have a present for you," he said and Santi threw a savagely beaten man forward into the circle of Spanish soldiers.

"It seems we caught us a spy," said Santi, with a sneer.

The sneer transformed Santi into the frightful creature Aramis recognized. The handsome face of the man he had come to think of as a friend suddenly morphed into a vile and menacing animal. There was suddenly malice and cruelty where before Aramis saw only laughter.

Santi kicked the man in the side and the soldiers cheered. Another kick and more applause. A violence and an animal lust had came over the lieutenant; Aramis tried to shrink into the shadows but to no avail.

"Aramis! Where is my young friend Aramis?" called Santi as the other men pushed him forward.

"Come, Aramis, it's time we made you a man and you proved your loyalty," he called and Aramis was pushed into the centre of the ring, a pistol shoved into his hand.

"Come Aramis," said Santi, his eyes blazing with laughter, his lips turned up in a cruel and wild smile. "Shoot the bastard."

"What has he done?" Javier asked stepping forward.

"He's French. Isn't that enough?" laughed Santacruz and the crowd cheered.

Aramis shook his head. "I can't kill an innocent man," he said lowering the pistol.

"You can't or you won't? What is it hermano, is your French blood taking over?" he said as he roughly pushed Aramis to the ground and the crowd jeered. Gustavo and Javier tensed and tried to push themselves to the front of the crowd of soldiers.

"He's innocent Santi, I just can't kill him. Please," he said pushing himself back onto his feet, as all the vestiges of his friend seemed to melt away.

Santi pulled out his pistol and levelled it at Aramis. "It's time you grew up, brother. Choose where your loyalties lie. Kill him or die."

Aramis faced the beaten man who was crumpled on the ground; Santacruz pulled him to his knees by his hair.

The man wore no colours, no markings. Was he really a spy or was this just something Santi and the Captain had cooked up to entertain the men? Aramis didn't know, but he knew that if he pulled that trigger, if he murdered the man cowering in front of him, his soul was doomed.

The warning of a hanging from General Marchand sounded through his head, and then again, the quiet and persistent voice that echoed "Don't forget who you are."

Battle was one thing, but murder – shooting a bound and beaten man to satiate the bloodlust of the mob – was something that Aramis couldn't do, could he?

"Do it," snarled Santi in his ear. "Do it now, hermano, or die."

Aramis raised the pistol. His arm was outstretched and the hand that never shook began to tremble.

"Do it! Now!" screamed Santi and Aramis drew in a deep breath.

"BANG!"

A gun went off and the crowd gasped as the man fell forward. Gustavo held a smoking pistol in his hand.

"Excellent," said Santi cruelly. "Always knew you had courage, Gustavo."

"Tie them up. All three of them. I'd like to get to know our new recruits more," said the Captain casually, emerging from the darkness with a near-giddy grin on his face as he stared at the anguish on Aramis' face and the prone body oozing blood on the ground.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading! Bonus prizes go to Jmp and Enigma TM who were the first to call me out on naming one of my characters Santi! :-)**_

 _ **This story is about how Aramis came to be Aramis, so why not have the actor's namesake serve as a foil?**_

 _ **Hope you're all enjoying this! Things are heating up!**_


	8. Chapter 8

Gustavo, Javier and Aramis were led back into the large tent, but this time instead of given cots, they had been tied to the wooden pole in the middle of the room. Santi and Diego had taken it in turns to pummel each man amidst the protestations of the others, so each was marked with a series of bruises, blood, split lips and various cuts. With their arms bound behind them, they were defenceless.

"Stop it," growled Javier as Diego dealt another vicious blow to Aramis' side.

Aramis pulled himself upright, coughing violently, desperate for the air to reach where it was supposed to be. He spat blood on the floor.

"'S okay Javi. He's…still just jealous…I'm handsome," Aramis gasped and Diego struck him again.

"Let's see about that, shall we?" he roared and he drew a dagger from his hip.

"Now, now Diego," came the lazy drawl of the Captain. "I must admit I like their fighting spirit."

"Why…Why are we here?" muttered Gustavo. His left eye was swollen shut and blood still dribbled down the side of his mouth where a tooth had shattered.

"That's a good question…boredom? Partly. The need to assuage my friend here's violent streak?" he said gesturing to Santi, "Again, partly…But mostly, I just don't know if I can trust you."

"You," said Santi pulling Gustavo as far forward as the ropes binding the man would allow. "Why did you kill that man today?"

Gustavo blinked and said nothing. He was rewarded with another blow to the gut.

"Answer me!" snarled Santi. It was still impossible to align this monster with the man that Aramis had known but a day ago but his question struck something deep within Aramis' chest. He peered at Gustavo through eyes that refused to focus.

"Why does it matter?" panted Gustavo. "You wanted him dead, so he's dead." Santi struck Gustavo again.

"Lies will get you nowhere," sang Captain Rodrigo.

Santi pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Aramis.

"Why," he said and cocked the pistol.

Gustavo swallowed and shook his head, his breaths coming quickly.

"He couldn't…I wouldn't let him," stammered the man. "I couldn't let you make him a murderer like yourself," he said. He flew backwards and crashed into the pole as Santi struck him with the butt of his pistol.

"It's not murder if they're French," spat Diego with a grin.

The Captain sighed. "We have a mission coming up. If you can complete that well you will be rewarded. Either you will be accepted into the Spanish army or you will be released to your heavenly maker. Prepare yourselves, and do not disappoint me. I will be watching you."

He paused and looking over his shoulder as he left the tent, he said casually, "But I think we have enough murderers amongst us, don't you?" and with a smile he nodded to Santi who grinned back. With a casual flick of the wrist, before anyone could react, and with a single flash, a bullet was fired and Gustavo sank to the ground. Aramis' screams echoed until he was silenced by a blow to the back of the head.

oOo

Aramis lay awake that night shuddering. The bruising and beating to his body paled in comparison to the torment his mind was in and the burning absence of Gustavo in his heart. Gustavo had saved him. He had done the deed Aramis could not, saving Aramis' soul in the process, and had died for it.

Aramis had thought that he was a hardened man now. He had killed and had seen bodies fall on masse around him. He had been beaten, stabbed, and had faced gunfire. He had fought more men than he could count. He thought he could read men, knew who he could trust, and in an instant – an animal-like moment – all that confidence and security was washed away as the vision of Gustavo falling repeated itself in his mind.

It had fled when he saw the mania that sparkled in Santi's eyes. The violence and the malice that lingered in the man's eyes were the same emotions that Aramis fought so hard to keep in check when he was in battle.

He knew that impulse; he had felt it.

It was the pull of freedom – the desire to let go of conscience and consequence and let the anger and the desire to survive to take over. It was the temptation to let go of his moral compass, to kill for the pleasure and not because it was his duty. To kill because he liked to and not because he had to.

To kill without thinking and without compassion.

Without remorse.

Without mercy.

Aramis had known from the beginning that they had a mission to complete at this Spanish camp, but for a few sweet carefree weeks, Aramis had felt…secure. He had found someone whom he had wanted to emulate. Santi was the example of all Aramis wanted to be – young, handsome, well liked, and brave. He never expected to find so much vindictive cruelty inside the man.

What he thought was his kindred spirit had morphed suddenly into the fear of all that he could be, of the parts of himself that he could lose if he gave into the carnal fire that he knew was in him.

Seeing Santi lose control scared him, he realized. It terrified him. It wasn't the fear of the man, it was the fear of himself, because for a moment, when he held that pistol in his hand and aimed at the cowering man in front of him, Aramis wasn't sure if he was going to pull the trigger…

He sat upright and struggled to breathe. He dropped his head between his knees and clasped his hands behind his head as he struggled to control himself. He was gasping, fighting for air, but somehow the oxygen wouldn't reach his lungs. His chest ached, his vision swam and he started to sweat as his panic overpowered him.

He suddenly felt hands thread themselves through his hair, soothingly.

"Calm Kitten, just breathe. Follow me," said Javier's voice by his ear as he pressed Aramis' hand against his chest. Aramis' spiralling eyes sought out Javier's.

"Javi!" Aramis blurted out. "I didn't know! I didn't think – "

"I know Kitten, I know. It's hard when the curtain drops. When the truth of someone comes out," he said soothingly. Aramis heaved a dry sob.

"You need to learn how to read people better Aramis," he said. The use of his real name had Aramis looking up again. "Learn to see beyond what they're trying to show. Know the real truths. It's the only way to find those you can trust with your life and with your heart in this world."

Javier looked into the marksman's eyes - God, he was so young still!

"Javi, he told me to…and I …I almost...I didn't want to disappoint him, but I knew it was wrong. I had to fight myself. I felt like I was losing myself. I almost…but then Gustavo and then they killed him…they killed Gustavo, Javi," Aramis stammered, his thoughts and his words swirling. Javier brought his hand up so it rested on the back of Aramis' neck.

"I know Aramis, I know. All that matters now is you learn, right?" said Javier bringing the boy's face up so their eyes met. "There are those in life who wear a mask – sometimes they're a good thing – a man trying to protect himself or his loved ones – but then there are others who wear a different kind of mask. One that seems fairer but hides the foul - hides the violent and evil plots inside. You've seen the difference now, mon ami. Now we learn from it, and we fight it. We don't get fooled again. Vraiment?"

"Oui," Aramis whispered, his eyes bright and fierce as he stared back at the man he realized was his brother.

oOo

The only thing that got Aramis through that night was the steady presence of Javier by his side as he lay shivering on the floor of the tent, ankle still tied to the bloody post. Aramis pressed himself against Javier, who sat upright against the post, his hand resting on the lad's shoulder, casually stroking the lad's hair throughout the night when his sleep was troubled. He would let no one hurt his brother again, Javier swore. Somehow, he would get the lad out of this mess, away from the Spanish and away from that bastard General Marchand who had sent them on this blasted mission.

The Gambler went over what information they had and tried to formulate a plan. If they were accepted back in with the other men, things would be a lot easier for them moving forward. The game wasn't over. He'd play whatever cards they were dealt, but one thing was certain – he would get Aramis safe and into French hands if it killed him!

oOo


	9. Chapter 9

Morning broke and Aramis and Javier were released from their bindings. The other soldiers looked sadly upon the young marksman as they brought him and Javi their breakfast. They had all grown fond of Gustavo and it was disheartening to see the vivacious young man so desolate. Javier helped the medic wrap Aramis' wrists where the bindings had cut using some of the prepared herbal mixtures provided by Gaston in a poultice to fight any potential infection.

Captain Rodrigo and Santi had ridden from the camp at dawn leaving Diego in charge. He glowered smugly at the men now under his control, and positively beamed as he ordered the men to strike camp.

"Don't let them break you," one soldier muttered to Aramis as they marched, causing him to startle.

"We've all lost someone. Never show them you're hurt," said another man with a smile.

With a look from Javier, Aramis smiled back sadly, "I guess that's why we should never try to get too close to command," he said to which the other solders chuckled darkly in agreement.

They marched for hours deeper into the French countryside, unencumbered by any French soldiers. Javier and Aramis looked around warily. How was it that there was no sign of the French army? Had the battle on the front picked up so intensely that their rear was completely unprotected? How far north had they moved?

"What's going on?" Javier asked one of the other soldiers. "Where are we going?"

"We're on a stealth mission now boys! We're going to pick up a shipment of weapons that'll weaken the French," he replied grinning.

"I thought that Spain wasn't involved in France's currently battles," said Javier.

"Technically, we're not," said the man grinning again. "But if France is made weaker, then it'll be easier pickings when King Philip is ready to attack!" he said with a slap to Javier's back.

Aramis and Javier looked at each other. It looked as though Spain was providing support for their enemies without openly opposing the French in warfare. If these weapons reached their destination, France would be beset by enemies on two fronts.

They were just two men. How were they going to stop this? How were they going to be able to sneak away to warn their countrymen about the pending threat?

"Seulement nous," Javier whispered to Aramis as the Spanish soldiers came to a rest. "It's up to us to stop it." Aramis' bright and determined eyes stared back at him. They would get this job done.

oOo

The small port town lay blissfully unaware of the group of Spanish soldiers that were camped just a few kilometres away. Mercifully, the Spanish soldiers were allowed into town a few men at a time so as not to arouse too much suspicion. The tavern and the brothel quickly became well-populated.

Javier and Aramis strode the boardwalk, speaking quietly and staring out at the distant specks, any of which could soon be a Spanish ship bearing who knew what manner of weaponry.

The two had split up when they arrived in town – Aramis was sent to the brothel, while Javier spoke with the local merchants at the tavern.

As he strode through the heavily perfumed doors of the brothel, Aramis' eyes watered slightly. He smiled brightly at those who eyed him as he made his way to a table in the corner and tipped his hat to the barman.

It wasn't long before the Madame spotted the handsome young man sitting on his own in the corner of her living room.

"Well, this isn't something we see every day," she purred at him in Spanish as she took a seat very close to him on the short settee. "How is that none of my girls has snatched up a sweet thing like you? They must have all fallen in love with you and were suddenly struck shy. I have some very nice young ones about the house if that's what you're looking for..."

Aramis looked her in the eyes and smiled at the older woman as she poured him some wine.

"I thank you, but I don't think that your girls will have what I want," he said boldly.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're rather young to look so comfortable in a place like this. Shouldn't you still be chasing your first heartbreak?" she asked.

Again Aramis smiled and put his arm around the woman so he could speak more closely to her. "To be honest, I grew up in a place like this. My mother was a courtesan, and I know all about the brilliance of the women in these establishments and the idiocy of the men."

She laughed and leaned into him as he drank his wine. "Handsome and charming. I should almost hire you – but somehow I see you as more of the hero-type."

Aramis refilled their glasses. "I'm looking for some information about some of the men that have been coming and going from here lately."

"Are you a fan of ships?" she asked him, a gleam coming to her eyes.

Aramis nodded. "Especially the Spanish kind," he whispered into her ear in French.

The older woman nodded and gave his arm a squeeze.

"You're playing a dangerous game, my sweet," she whispered, "but I think I can help you. My Josephine is a favourite of the harbourmaster. She might be able to help."

"Thank you Madame," Aramis said to her, returning the squeeze of her arm, "But why are you helping me?"

Her eyes grew cold though her smiled never slipped. "You say you grew up in a home like mine? Then you'd know we're a family. There's a few among these Spaniards – one who's tall and handsome like you, an officer, and one who's squat with a wide nose – their hearts are cruel, blacker than anything I've seen. They've mistreated a few of my girls and I won't sit by and let them get away with that."

Aramis' dark eyes turned black and the Madame caught her breath at their anger and intensity. "I understand," he muttered darkly and hid his face in her hair as he whispered into her ear. "When I am finished, I will make sure they pay for whatever harm they have brought you or your girls. I swear it."

The Madame pulled away from him and took the young handsome face in her hands. "I believe you, my sweet," she said and kissed him deeply. "I know your eyes. They may end up breaking a lot of hearts, but your eyes would never break a vow like that," she said. She patted his face and went to fetch her girl Josephine.

oOo

Josephine turned out to be a fountain of information. It was a relief to her to have the attention of someone so young and handsome and not the typical overweight and drunken harbourmaster asking for her. The fact that Aramis only wanted to speak with her was a relief too – though by the end of their conversation she would admit to being disappointed that they had kept their clothes on.

She pouted at him as he made to leave. He bowed to her and kissed her hand and she pulled him towards her, kissing him deeply, her fingers running through his unruly curls. Aramis pulled away and grinned at the girl who stood flushed, but triumphant in the doorway. He resettled his hat on his head and tipping it to her he left the brothel.

oOo

"The harbourmaster, it turns out, has long been in the employ of the Spanish," Aramis said as he and Javier looked out across the water. "The ship is expected to make landfall in two days' time."

"Do you know what the cargo may be?" Javier asked.

Aramis shook his head. "No, he never mentioned that, but Josephine said he was very excited. Apparently he was to be paid double to ensure that the slips would be clear overnight. Apparently he was paid handsomely for a warehouse too. Josephine didn't seem thrilled about that," said Aramis with a grin.

"A stable master says that he just got a huge payment for his team and wagon too. Whatever they're expecting, it sounds large," said Javier thoughtfully.

"It also sounds as though they don't intend to move it right away. That might buy us some time!" said Aramis.

"We could send word to Marchand," Javier said. "I've heard the French army is about a two days' ride. If word got to them, they could be here in time to intercept whatever weapons are arriving."

"And if they don't?" Aramis asked.

"Then I guess it'll be up to us to handle it," said Javier with a grin. "We'll have a light show that the Louvre will be jealous of!"

oOo


	10. Chapter 10

With the arrival of the Spanish ship imminent, Javier wrote to the General Marchand. Aramis insisted that they write to the Captain Treville as well. Aramis couldn't trust the General to act in time or at all, frankly, but even in their brief acquaintance from years ago, Aramis learned that Captain Treville was a man of action. They had met one or two more times over the course of the campaign, and each time they parted, Aramis was filled with more and more confidence in the Captain. If Marchand wouldn't rally his troops in time, Aramis knew Treville would.

Aramis and Javier entrusted the sealed letters to the Madame who sent them with full haste towards the French camp.

For two days they waited. Santi and the Captain had re-joined their men, both in far better moods with the easy access to the women and the bar in town.

When Santi returned to camp with Diego, they were often drunk. Santi pretty much ignored Aramis now as he did the other men, though occasionally Aramis could feel his eyes boring into his back.

Diego, under Santi and the Captain's relaxed control, had grown more brutal as he lorded his minor power over the other soldiers. Aramis had to clench his fists as Diego constantly insulted and beat the men under him. A firm hand on his wrist from Javier was the only thing that kept Aramis from launching himself at the man after witnessing a particularly unnecessary and savage beating he had delivered to one of his soldiers.

oOo

As expected, the ship came in the night.

Aramis, Javier and the Spanish troops silently unloaded the cargo and stored it in the large dry warehouse that the harbourmaster provided. Aramis lost count of the number of weapons as crate after crate of muskets, pistols and gun powder were unloaded from the ship's hull. It was enough firepower to arm a large battalion.

As the ship pulled away with no sign of the French Army in sight, Javier and Aramis exchange worried glances. They had no idea how long these weapons would remain in the town or how they could delay them if the Spanish decided to move.

"News should have reached the camp by now," muttered Javier as he and Aramis sat by the campfire eating their dinners. "If the generals took action, the French should be arriving in another two days," he said as he glanced around at the other men laughing and joking nearby.

"That's a big "if", mon ami," said Aramis softly.

"I know, Kitten, but we can't act unless there is no other choice. The French need to come. There's nothing we can do until then. There's only the two of us," he said, his worried eyes glowing in the firelight.

oOo

Another two days passed, and the French had still not arrived.

Aramis was taught, but on the surface he maintained his same affable nature. The waiting on the edge of battle was often the most difficult part, but Aramis' patience was what made him a great marksman. He knew to wait for his shot.

As a third evening fell around them, Javier returned to Aramis after seeking out information at the tavern.

"It's happening," he said. "The stable master has been told to make the team ready. We need to take out the shipment tomorrow night. We need to have it destroyed before the dawn. Hopefully, in the chaos we cause there'll be an opportunity for us to slip away undetected."

Aramis nodded from his bedroll and stared into the fire, reflecting on their plans.

Since Javier and Aramis had arrived at the seaside town and discovered the warehouse intended to store the Spanish weapons, both men had taken to becoming friendly with the men who worked the docks and guarded the warehouses. Quietly, they had been amassing their own small collection of weaponry – primarily gunpowder, which they had stockpiled beneath some crates and a blue fabric tarpaulin that leant casually against the side of the warehouse.

"How are we going to trigger the explosion?" Aramis asked Javier for the hundredth time.

"You let me worry about that," he responded. "We all have our own talents of war. Yours is shooting. Mine happens to be blowing things up," he said with a grin that caused Aramis' lips to smirk. "We will need a distraction before I blow the place. There's an empty storefront between the warehouse and the tavern. I need you to start a fire, get all the townspeople away from the warehouse. But Kitten, be careful. Don't get spotted."

"What about you?" Aramis asked again. The vagueness of how Javier intended to safely trigger the explosion bothered him.

"Don't worry about me. The bomb will be set to go off as the clock chimes. At the tenth bell, hell will break loose. If it doesn't," Javier said, his eyes staring into Aramis', "There will be a target. Get as far as you can, and fire at it. The target won't be large, but you need to give yourself as much space as possible. We have no idea how big the blast might be. 50 yards at least."

"I'll hit it," said Aramis determinedly. "If the time comes and I need to, I'll hit it."

Javier nodded. "Don't do anything reckless. Start the fire and take cover. In the aftermath, I expect the Spanish troops to flee."

"There's an abandoned cabin in the woods, about an hour's hike outside the city, away from the Spanish. The Madame has had her girls hide some supplies there for us. We'll slip away to there in the aftermath and take cover until the French army arrives," Aramis said. Javier nodded in agreement.

"Ok Kitten, get some rest We need to be ready," said Javier as he looked at the young man in front of him.

"You too. Take care of yourself, mon ami," said Aramis, grasping his forearm, his brown eyes burning.

"You too," he said. "Remember, don't be a hero. Don't be reckless with those nine lives."

oOo


	11. Chapter 11

The next day passed. Darkness fell and the evening grew late. Very late.

Aramis was focused on his task. As planned, he lit the oiled rope that lay curled in the empty store front and walked away as it slowly burned. He glanced at the large clock that clicked down the minutes as he headed up the street in the direction of the brothel.

A small shriek and a snarl caught him off guard as movement from a dark alley captured his attention.

"Stop struggling you stupid whore," he heard a man snarl, followed by the sound of a blow and a yelp of pain.

Aramis' vision went black as he recognized Diego's voice and the sound of a woman crying.

"Diego!" he roared as he ran into the alley and threw the vile Spaniard off the poor woman he had been assaulting. She ran from the alley, clutching at her dress, her cheek swollen and bleeding from the blow. Aramis seethed as he towered over Diego, who laughed as he looked up at Aramis from the ground.

"You could have had a turn when I was finished with her," he sneered at Aramis.

"Get up you rodent. This ends now," Aramis said. Cold fury echoed in his every word.

Diego grinned and got to his feet drawing his sword.

"I've been waiting for an opportunity to kill you," said Diego. "I'll find that whore again once I'm finished with you," he snarled and leapt at Aramis with his blade drawn.

Aramis was prepared and he let his rage drive him. He fought Diego for every man that had suffered under his cruelty, for every undue strike to a lesser. He let his fury echo in each swipe of his rapier for every woman that had ever been hurt by this animal.

Diego's eyes were wide in fear and shock at Aramis' anger. In all their violent exchanges, Aramis had either been weakened or bound, so Diego was completely unprepared to deal with the violence of this young warrior.

A crowd had started to form on the street, Captain Rodrigo among them as smoke and flames began emerging from the storefront that Aramis had set ablaze.

Aramis and Diego's fight spilled onto the street, ignored by most of the townspeople who flocked to try to help quench the flames. Diego knew he was defeated, but made one last desperate lunge, managing to cut Aramis' bicep with his blade. He grinned wickedly as he saw the blood begin to run down the marksman's arm.

"All you Frenchmen deserve to die," spat the Spaniard as Aramis thrust his blade into his midsection.

"The words of a small man, despised by his own countrymen. You will die alone in this French gutter and the Spanish soldiers you treated so cruelly will celebrate your passing," Aramis hissed as the man's eyes bulged as he fell backwards and lay still.

Aramis stood panting, struggling to control his anger when suddenly his left shoulder erupted in pain.

"I knew you were a killer," drawled the cruel voice of Captain Rodrigo as he whispered in Aramis ear. Aramis staggered forward as the man twisted and pulled the blade from his back.

"You may not be a murderer, but your talents for violence are breath-taking. A few more years with me and you could have been more deadly than Santacruz," he said smirking as Aramis clutched at the wound at his shoulder.

"I could never be like you or him. Your souls are black. I don't kill for pleasure," Aramis hissed through his pain.

"Nor do I dear boy. I'm actually not a violent man by nature. But I have a talent for recognizing and fostering those skills in others. Diego served his purpose, pitiful as he was, and I believe my Santi is serving his now too. He never liked that Gambler," Rodrigo said, his grin broadening as he saw Aramis pale.

"Oh dear," said the man, "Was he supposed to do something? Destroy those weapons perhaps?"

"You knew?" Aramis muttered as he pulled his pistol and aimed it at the Captain.

"Of course," he replied ignoring the weapon. "I knew from the moment I met you. A little bird told me we might find French spies if we headed in a certain direction. How else was it that we came upon you so easily in the woods that evening? Did you not expect our camp to be further out?"

Aramis' mind reeled at this news. They had been set up from the beginning. But why?

"But why take us in? Why risk the shipment? Why this whole game?" Aramis spluttered.

Rodrigo laughed, an eerie light laugh that felt like cold water running down Aramis' spine.

"Why? Primarily because it was fun," he said with a hideous grin. "The army life can be so boring. I had heard about you – you had bothered my little bird, see. I was curious to see what you would do, how you would react. The weapons in the long run are meaningless – antiques practically. If they are destroyed, technically Spain was never here to begin with, so the peace between our countries remains."

Captain Ridrigo sighed. "Part of me had hoped that I would be able to turn you, to use your gifts as another weapon in my arsenal, but if that were not the case, I had been asked to dispose of you as I pleased. Oh, and don't worry about the French army. They will not be coming. My little bird mentioned something about the disorganization of the French camp and missives being lost or something along those lines. Besides, who would care for the deaths of three Spanish-blooded traitors?"

Aramis' ears rang as the Captain spoke. The chaos of the crowd trying to supress the fire continued to grow behind him. Rodrigo lazily sheathed his dagger and drew his pistol.

"Don't," warned Aramis, refocusing his own weapon.

"I'm afraid I must," he said. "Loose ends and all. Santi should be finished playing with the Gambler by now, though he does get carried away at times." Rodrigo cocked the pistol. "It was a shame about the other one. Gustavo? He was actually quite a fair musician," he said with a sigh. "Goodbye Aramis. You could have been such a good plaything. I'm very disappointed."

Two pistol blasts erupted in a blaze that sent shrieks up from the people on the street below him.

Aramis glared at the Captain who stood across from him. Rodrigo smiled as he looked down at his own chest to see the large bloodstain that had begun forming there. He pressed his fingers into the wound and beamed wider as though relishing the pain. His twisted grin remained as he collapsed to the street, his lifeblood pouring from him.

Aramis leapt into action as the man fell. His hand moved to his side where he could feel blood soaking through his shirt. Rodrigo's shot had grazed his ribs.

His eyes fell on the Madame as he leapt past the dead Spanish soldiers.

"Madame," he cried, "I need a horse!"

"My god, you're bleeding!" she said as she looked at him and cast an eye past him to where two of the brutes who had been torturing her girls lay dead.

"Please, Madame, Santi is going to kill Javier. I need to get to the warehouse," he said, the desperation in his voice calling back her attention. She nodded at him and whistled for one of her servants to fetch her horse.

Aramis swung himself into the saddle, swaying slightly. The loss of blood was beginning to affect him. She grasped his thigh and looked up at the young man.

"Be careful, my sweet. That Santi is the Devil himself," she said urgently.

"I know," said Aramis. "There's a plan to destroy the Spanish weapons. Make sure you keep everyone back from the warehouse. When the French army comes, send Treville to find me."

"Treville?" she asked.

"He's a captain. He'll be here."

She nodded at him and he took off, the horse's hooves sparking as he galloped down the cobbled streets.


	12. Chapter 12

Aramis dismounted and tethered his horse outside the warehouse. He cast a quick glance at the stockpile of ammunition that Javier had rigged. It looked undisturbed. The fleur-de-lis – their fallback target – painted on the tarpaulin that covered the explosives was still visible.

He glanced up at the clock tower. It was half-past eleven. In 30 minutes, whatever would happen, would happen.

The door to the warehouse was slightly ajar. Aramis knew that Javier was hurt and inside – his groans could be heard from outside the door. There was no point in sneaking around anymore – he didn't have the time.

Aramis kicked the door open and threw himself inside.

A grizzly site met his eyes as they adjusted to the light inside the room. Two torches hung from brackets. The crates of weapons and gunpowder were visible just outside the circumference of the torches' glow. Javier was hanging, suspended by his wrists from the ceiling. His face was bruised and he was bleeding. Badly.

Sheathing his rapier and drawing his dagger, Aramis ran to his friend and grasping him across his chest, he slashed at the rope above his wrists so the man fell into his arms. They crashed to the ground as the rope gave way, Aramis preventing his friend's head from hitting the floor.

"Javi! Javi!" Aramis called urgently.

"'Ar'mis," the man whispered. "Get out. 'sa trap," he managed to mutter before unconsciousness seized him.

Aramis glanced around him, but seeing nothing he cut the bonds from his friend's wrist and then bent to lift Javier from the floor and drag him towards the door. As they neared the edge of the ring of light, a pistol shot rang off the flagstone floor close enough to graze the tatters of Javier's shirtsleeve.

Aramis froze.

"Well hermano, it looks like you've finally grown up," hissed Santacruz as he emerged from the shadows. He cast aside his spent pistol and began to casually toss his dagger in the insufferable way he did. "I can see Diego's blood on you. Good, he was a bore. And let me guess, the Captain too?"

Aramis said nothing.

"Poor Rodrigo. We had so much fun together. He always came up with the best games to play with the whores at the brothel, or enemy spies…or with you," he said laughing cruelly. "I can just imagine what's going through your head, brother. Thinking you and the fools you travelled with were doing your duty for France? Ha! You were pawns tossed our way to satisfy the ire of a General and my boredom. It was Rodrigo who wanted to test you. He liked these games. He was the one who told me to earn your trust. Oh, hermano, if you could have only seen your face as I told you to shoot that fool. And then the Singer did it for you! I didn't understand the game at first, but the sound of your sobs when I killed that musician sounded better than any song he had sung."

Aramis lowered Javier delicately to the ground as Santi cackled.

"I'll admit, this elaborate ruse with the weapons and the French was a bit much for my taste, though they'll serve their purpose and provide me a nice pay out once collected. Although again, to see your face now, your dreams of being a hero slipping away like the life of your Gambler here, makes it well worth my patience."

"Let's finish this," growled Aramis drawing his rapier as he stared into the soulless eyes of the monster he once thought he wanted to emulate.

"As you wish," snarled Santi, hurling his dagger at the younger man. Aramis reacted just in time, knocking the blade from the air with his rapier. Santi hurled himself at the lad who was thrown to the ground at the unexpected impact.

He rolled with the force and sprang to his feet just in time to duck beneath another blow from Santi's rapier. He couldn't react fast enough to avoid the punch that came from the man's hand clutching the parrying dagger though, and Aramis was spun away by its force as he felt the edge of the blade slice his cheek.

The wound stung, but it was not large or very deep.

"Ooh, sorry hermano, you may not leave quite so pretty of a corpse once I'm done with you," laughed Santi as the two men circled each other like leopards.

"I am not your brother," Aramis growled as he leapt forward with his rapier.

His onslaught was fierce and Santi was surprised by the skill of the young man. He countered each stroke, searching for an opening that wouldn't come. He hissed and drew away as Aramis blade made contact with his wrist, his parrying dagger clattering to the floor. The cut was deep and bled heavily.

Santi laughed. "Good! Very good! I was not expecting that."

"Surrender now, and I won't kill you," Aramis said, raising his blade again in challenge.

"You know that that will never happen," Santi sneered. "You and I are the same. There is only battle and victory. There is no mercy, no surrender. You too have felt the darkness and the thrill of battle and survival. I know you. You're just like me." He sprang his attack suddenly and Aramis countered where he could.

The wound in his shoulder and the cut to Aramis' ribs and bicep blazed as the edges of his vision grew hazy. It was hard to track where the strikes were coming from or heading to. He moved on instinct, ducking and dodging when parries and ripostes weren't enough. Santi danced this deadly dance as well, their swords flashing as their blood spotted the floor around them.

They broke away putting space between them once more and Santi spat blood onto the ground.

"I knew you were a fast learner," Santi hissed, smearing the blood that dribbled from his lips. He raised his arms and lunged once again at Aramis.

The intensity of his blows were more ferocious than anything Aramis had ever faced, but the older man was growing tired. The wound in his wrist continued to bleed heavily where it hung uselessly at his side.

Finally, desperately, the man swung a killing blow at Aramis' chest. Aramis ducked under it and grabbing the man's arm, he used that momentum to press the arm against its owner as Aramis drove his rapier into the man's chest with whatever force remained in him.

"I am nothing like you and you are not my brother," Aramis said coldly as he released the Spanish lieutenant who fell to the floor.

Aramis paused only for a moment, swallowing thickly trying to brush the cobwebs from his vision. A groan from behind him had him turning and sprinting back to where Javier lay.

"Javi! We need to get out of here!" he gasped as he helped his brother sit up. Javier's eyes widened as they focused over Aramis' shoulder. The click of a pistol had Aramis grabbing Santi's blade that had fallen by Javier's side. Without stopping, without thinking, without looking, Aramis spun on his knees and flung the blade behind him with a deadly accurate grace. The blade plunged itself into its owner's heart, and the cruel mocking eyes of Santacruz saw no more. The pistol clattered to the floor as the monster fell for the last time.

Aramis stood without another glance at the dead Spaniard and made to pull Javier to his feet. He hissed at the strain on his injured shoulder.

"Ar'mis," muttered Javier, his voice hardly audible. "Leave m'here."

"Never, brother," Aramis growled at him. He sheathed his rapier and made sure his pistol was secure in his belt, then with a deep breath and a strength born from the sheer defiance of the odds, Aramis stooped and lifted the larger man onto his back.

He teetered and stumbled from the building to the horse. He draped Javier across the saddle and leapt up after him. He spurred the horse forward as the clock tower began to chime.

"Faster! Faster!" Aramis urged the horse as he counted the tolls. He paused as the echoes of the tenth bell rang without the expected explosion.

"Javi! It didn't work! It didn't go off!" Aramis said desperately, as the next bells chimed.

"Shoot it," Javier whispered.

Aramis twisted in his seat to face the target. He was more than 100 yards out now, with only one pistol shot.

Aramis didn't hesitate. He grabbed his pistol, checked his site down the barrel, letting the fleur-de-lis fill his vision, and taking a deep breath, he fired and spun, determined to gain as much distance from the explosion as possible.

He knew he had hit the target even as he turned. The roar of the igniting gunpowder echoed behind him as the horse leapt across the pavement. Aramis could feel the heat of the blast as the warehouse erupted casting a tower of smoke and fire into the night sky.

oOo

* * *

 ** _A/N: Whoa! A whole lotta action - but it's not over yet! Taking a slight pause to get something entered into this month's Fetes, but then we'll be back._**

 ** _There's more to come, so thank you for all the favourites, feedback and follows! I love hearing your reactions. Seriously, they make my day!_**


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Thanks for your patience for this one! I had to get an entry into this month's fete out - and those have got a deadline! Glad to be getting back to Aramis...I last left him and Javier in some dire straights with Treville nowhere in sight!**_

 _ **Thanks again for all your amazing support for this tale. Happy reading!**_

 _ **ooooooooooooo**_

* * *

The smoke from the fire and the explosion permeated the air. The dark cloud of ash and smoke spread out to cover the town, carried on the breeze from the sea. Aramis did not look back once he fired his shot. The weapons had been destroyed. Santi was dead as was Diego and Captain Rodrigo. The other Spanish soldiers could contend with the French when they arrived. If they arrived.

Aramis shook his head.

Treville will be here, he thought, placing his faith in a Captain of men he had met years ago.

"Hang on Javi," Aramis muttered as the horse galloped through the woods.

Javier groaned in his arms, still bleeding heavily from a number of wounds. The jolting of the galloping horse was not making this easier, but Aramis knew the sooner they got to the sanctuary of the cabin, the sooner their wounds could be treated and his brother could be saved.

"We're almost there mon ami. Hang on, brother," he whispered into the man's ear.

Finally the cabin came in sight. Aramis dismounted and gingerly pulled Javier after him. The older man was larger than Aramis; Aramis struggled to manoeuvre him and spare the man whatever pain he could.

The wound in Aramis' left shoulder surged with a vengeance, his blood still pouring from the damage inflicted by Rodrigo's dagger. On top of that, there was whatever damage he had received in his duel with Santi, and the deep cut from Diego, which would also need his attention at some point. For now though, Aramis' sole focus was on the man clutched in his arms.

The cabin was small and well hidden in the woods. A bed stood against one wall with a large table near it with a few chairs and a small side table that stood by the window. A hearth in the middle of the room was stocked with dry firewood and a large pot of water stood ready. Aramis glanced around the dark room and saw the lumps of his and Javier's possession piled by the door.

He lowered Javier onto the table. The bed would have been more comfortable, but Aramis knew that the table would make treating his numerous injuries easier. Hopefully, Javier would have enough sense to help Aramis get him onto the bed once the stitching was done.

Aramis lit the fire to bring the water to a boil and the cabin surged with light. He lit the few candles and drew the end table closer to where Javier lay. His breath was laboured, but the fact that he was still breathing Aramis took as a good sign.

He laid out the supplies from his bag and gathered the bandages and linens that the Madame had prepared for him on the end table. As the water boiled, Aramis threw some of the herbs from Gaston's packet marked _For pain_ into a cup to steep before he began to help Javier from his shirt.

Aramis could see that the man's shoulder had been dislocated. There were two large gashes along the man's back that were long and ugly though not too deep. These were made to cause pain, but not to kill the man. It was the bullet wound in his shoulder that Aramis had not noticed at first that had him most concerned now.

Aramis set about cleaning the wounds with the hot water and clean linens. Javier screamed and flinched in pain as the hot water made contact with the multiple abrasions. His back arced and his body flailed and Aramis did what he could to hold the man steady. When he stilled suddenly, Aramis flung his hand to the man's neck, desperate for a pulse. He found one with a sigh of relief – the pain had driven Javier unconscious.

Examining the bullet wound in the man's left shoulder, Aramis couldn't locate an exit wound. The young man paled. He had to get the ball out and soon. Aramis picked up his dagger and cleaned it in the hot water. He then stood over his prone friend with the blade suspended and thought back to all that the medics had told him about removing a musket ball.

"Expand the entry to make it easier. Use a thin blade to locate the ball. Remove with forceps if you have them, fingers if not. Clean out any debris before closing," Aramis muttered to himself. Aramis checked Javier's pulse once more.

"Dear Heavenly Father, please, guide my hand. Help me save his life Lord, please," he prayed, before lowering his blade to expand the entry wound.

Javier didn't react so Aramis continued, both grateful and worried by the man's unresponsive state. His hands were red with Javier's blood as he felt the blade make contact with the ball. Slowly, Aramis began to guide the ball out of the wound. As it neared the exit, the slick blade faltered. Lacking forceps, Aramis had no choice but to use his fingers to remove the ball from the wound. He glared at it for a moment before casting it away, dousing the wound liberally with the hot water. He examined the injury, carefully looking for any signs of debris or dirt before pouring a clear liquor into the wound to prevent infection. Javier's body reacted instinctively to the burn of the liquor and Aramis again held him down, tears falling from his eyes as the body stilled once more.

He was exhausted, but his work was not done. He vigorously rubbed his hands into his eyes, fighting to banish his own pain, weariness and blood loss from his vision. He stitched the wound closed before moving on to the other gashes that marred the man's torso.

He crushed the herbs marked _For infection_ into a poultice and liberally coated each wound and the injuries to the man's back before wrapping each wound in a series of clean bandages. Javier began to come around at this point.

"Javi, can you hear me?" Aramis asked the man as he cupped his face. Javier's eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to open his eyes.

"Ar'mis," he muttered. "Did you hit the target?" he breathed.

"Of course," said Aramis, grinning slightly as his eyes filled with tears of relief at the man's voice.

"Knew you would," he replied and then began to cough. Aramis lifted him slightly and gave him the cup of steeped herbs to drink. Javier made a face at the bitter taste, but Aramis encouraged him to drink.

"This will help with the pain, brother," Aramis said. Looking towards the bed Aramis grimaced. "Javi, I want to let you rest now. Do you think you can make it to the bed?" Aramis asked.

The injured man nodded groggily. He rolled himself to his side groaning as the cuts to his back pulled. Aramis ducked under his right arm to avoid putting strain on the stitches to that bullet wound and the still dislocated shoulder. Javier's weight on Aramis' own wound nearly had him passing out from the sudden resurgence of pain, but Aramis bit his cheek and staggered towards the bed.

Javier collapsed exhausted when they reached it. Aramis had him settled and surveyed his injuries once more. No stitches tore for which Aramis muttered a brief prayer of thanks. The man's shoulder was incredibly swollen, and Aramis knew that he lacked the strength to reset it at this point. He covered the joint in a cool damp cloth and hoped that come morning, some of the swelling would have subsided enough to reset the joint.

With Javier settled in the bed, Aramis finally allowed himself a moment to assess his own wounds. Stripping off his shirt, which had gone stiff from the blood drying within its fibres, Aramis reached out a hand to steady himself against the table as dark spots flashed before his eyes.

Aramis bit hard on his cheek to stop himself from screaming as he scrubbed with the remaining hot water at the graze that Rodrigo's bullet had left across his ribs, and the deep gash to his bicep from Diego. The wound is his shoulder had finally slowed its bleeding. Aramis looked around for the bottle of liquor. He took a huge swig from the bottle before turning its contents onto the wound in his shoulder, arm and ribs.

Pain beyond anything Aramis could imagine flared as the alcohol burned the open wounds. Aramis stumbled forward towards the bed where he collapsed on the floor. Somehow he managed to pull himself upright and into a sitting position. He leaned back against the edge of the bed, his chest heaving. His head swam, the room spinning before his quickly closing eyes.

As the darkness took over, Aramis' hand reached for his pistol. Half conscious, he reloaded and primed the weapon, his hand wrapping securely around the handle before the darkness won out and he slipped into oblivion.

oOo


	14. Chapter 14

They had been riding for three days practically without stop.

Treville glanced once again at the letter he had received from Aramis and folded it back up returning it to his pocket. He had received the missive just before being summoned into a meeting with Marchand and the other Generals.

oOo

 _"_ _I have received news of a potential threat," Treville said as he entered the tent. "A ship bearing Spanish weaponry is due to make landfall on French soil in aid of our enemies. We need to stop that ship and destroy those weapons," Treville said._

 _The Generals were silent for a moment taking in the words of the Captain._

 _"_ _That's preposterous," said Marchand, staring defiantly at Treville. "Where did you hear such lies?"_

 _Treville narrowed his eyes. Aramis' letter had made mention of the mission that Marchand had sent him on and his suspicions of the General's more nefarious involvement. He knew that he and his companion had informed Marchand of the impending shipment as well, hoping that they were wrong about the man who had essentially sent them to their deaths._

 _"_ _The news comes from scouts that were sent into enemy lines at your orders, General," Treville responded calmly, his ice-blue eyes burning into the unsettled Marchand._

 _"_ _Scouts?" he asked confusedly. "You mean those Spanish spies? They are traitors, and have fled to join Philip's army."_

 _Treville frowned. True, he had only met Aramis a few times since their first encounter more than three years ago, but he had kept an ear out for news of him. He was certain that the young man who had acted with bravery, loyalty and honour by all accounts from every man he had served with or under, save Marchand, could not be considered a traitor._

 _"_ _By your leave, sirs, it is my wish to take my regiment to verify this rumour," Treville said._

 _"_ _It is nearly three days' ride to this town," another General said._

 _"_ _And these rumours are no more than the lies of a traitor," Marchand insisted._

 _Treville nodded. "I understand your concerns, General, but I would hope that you would have a better measure of the hearts of the men under your command."_

 _"_ _How dare you," roared Marchand, but another General raised a hand to silence him._

 _"_ _The risk of an enemy attack from behind is far too great to leave these rumours unexplored," he said. "Take ten men with you Treville. Ride hard and report back of your findings."_

 _Treville nodded and turned on his heel, shooting a withering glance at Marchand._

oOo

Treville ground his teeth as they neared the village. If anything had happened to Aramis or his companions, Treville swore he would see Marchand pay for it.

Suddenly, an eruption was visible in the distance as a tower of flame and smoke leapt from the village.

"Ride! Ride hard!" he called to his men as they raced towards the flames.

oOo

The scene was one of a controlled kind of chaos. The townspeople had already gathered and were dealing with the remains of a smaller fire at a storefront and so were prepared to tackle the blaze at the warehouse further down the boardwalk.

"Spread out!" called Treville as his men set about aiding in the relief effort.

Treville scanned the crowd and saw the bodies of two men laying in the gutter at the side of the road covered in a sheet. Treville approach the bodies and pulled back the sheet fearing the worst. The sight that met his eyes had him furrowing his brow.

Beneath the sheet lay two Spanish officers. One sported a series of wounds and blows, clearly the loser of a duel, while the other was marked by a single gunshot wound to his chest, an oddly sinister smile still frozen on his lips. Treville searched the men's pockets and pulled some letters from the corpse of the smiling captain.

Shaking the papers open, Treville's eyes burned as he read the contents of the missives.

The first was a letter openly describing the sender's hostility for a "young marksman" with a request to do as he pleased with him and two other Spaniards that would be "returned" to him. The other was an update, indicating that these same men were intending to destroy the delivery of weapons with an affirmation that the French army would not be coming.

"I trust you to rid us both of this annoyance. Stop your games. No loose ends. – M," the letter ended.

Treville glared at that signature and crumpled the letters in his fist. Breathing deeply, he unclenched his fist and folding the crumpled paper as best he could, he tucked it into his jacket.

oOo

It was several hours before the fire was under control. It had burned hot and fast, obliterating a majority of the weaponry that had been housed inside the warehouse. The neighbouring buildings had received little damage, but the soldiers and townspeople were on high alert lest the blaze break out again.

Treville commanded the clean up from the tavern near the brothel. The bodies of the two Spanish solders had been moved to the stables.

He was startled when a woman approached him where he stood glowering.

The woman was dressed in black lace and red satin. A black fan teased at her mouth where it was held by black lace gloves. Her sharp eyes gazed at Treville as she placed a bottle on the table before him.

"You are Treville," she said as she took a seat in front of him, closing her fan. She leant forward and poured him a drink.

"I am, but I am sorry Madame, I have little time for company at this moment," he said curtly. She smiled at his formality. Treville knew what she was, and she saw he held no judgement. She smiled at him warmly and grinned internally when she saw his nervousness grow.

"You mistake me, Captain," she said and took a drink from her glass, looking around worriedly. "I was told to find you once the French army arrived."

Treville stared at her at these words and raised an eyebrow. "You were sent for me? By whom?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He was a French spy – half Spanish by the looks of him. Sweet thing. Very handsome. Young. Honourable. He took care of those brutes you found on the street who were torturing my girls. He and his companion blew the Spanish weapons to smithereens too, I'm betting."

"Please Madame, explain," said Treville, taking the seat across from her and refilling her glass.

The Madame explained what she could, describing how the boy had sought her out for information, and how she had a small sanctuary prepared for him should he need it. She described Aramis' battle with Diego and his shootout with Rodrigo and then paused.

"The last I saw him, he was racing towards the warehouse. He warned me to keep everyone back from that area so I did. A third monster, Santi, had captured his friend. He went to save him. They had discovered that this shipment of weapons was bound for enemy hands. I was the one they had send the letters to the French army. They had hoped you'd be here sooner," she said.

"Thank you Madame. Where is Aramis now?"

"Aramis? You know, he never told me his name? I'm not sure," she said worriedly. "He was bleeding heavily from his injuries when he left. The cabin I prepared is about an hour's march outside the city – faster on horseback. But Captain, that explosion…there's no way he could have made it. He would have had to be more than 100 yards from that place to have not been caught by the initial burst. No one could make a shot like that."

Treville bit his cheek and nodded. "Nonetheless, I need to check on him. If he and his friend did survive, they might be gravely hurt. Thank you Madame, for your service to France," he said as she rose.

The Madame stepped towards Treville and placed her hands on his face. "Please Captain, save the boy. France needs heroes like him," she said and kissed him as she turned to leave.

It took Treville half a heartbeat to recover as he called for his horse. He leapt into the saddle and galloped through the city and towards the woods, desperate to reach this cabin.

As he rode he prayed for the young man to still be alive.

oOo


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Apologizing in advance for the brevity of this chapter. I thought about trying to combine it with another chapter, but I really wanted this to stand on its own. Thanks again for following and for all of your amazing reviews!**_

 _ **ooooooooooo**_

* * *

Treville dismounted and approached the cabin warily. Light flickered from inside. Dawn had just started to pull back the curtains of night and a grey light began to filter through the trees.

The door was ajar, a red smear of blood on the doorframe providing a clue to the occupants' state of being. As he carefully pushed the door open, the gruesomeness of the scene within had him gasp.

A table stood in the middle of the room by the fire, a smaller one covered in soiled bandages and medical supplies stood next to it. Blood coated the table and the discarded cloths that littered the floor. Treville could see a blade and a needle sitting in a bowl of pink water, now cool.

Treville looked to the bed where a Spanish looking soldier lay, his torso heavily bandaged. He next focused on the young man, Aramis, shivering where he sat slumped against the bed from the floor. His chest was bare and Treville could see a large graze mark made by a bullet tracing his ribs and a deep gash on his left bicep. The young man trembled as Treville took a step forward. Aramis fought to open his eyes at the sound of Treville's footsteps and tried to raise the pistol clutched in his hand.

"Stay away from him," the lad whispered hoarsely, as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

"Aramis," said Treville as he stepped closer towards the young man with his hands up in front of him to show he was unarmed, "It's Treville."

"Captain," breathed Aramis, as he he suddenly slumped forward away from the bed.

Treville's eyes surged as he crossed the room in three strides to where the boy had fallen. He grimaced as he pulled his hand away, wet with blood from the young man's shoulder.

Treville swept the soiled table free of bloody linens with his arm, then carefully lifted Aramis from the floor and lay him face down on the table. Sewing was not something Treville had much experience with, but he knew enough to tend to his men when needs be and no medic was present to assist. He began working on the wound on the back of the man's shoulder. It wasn't the neatest job, but the stitches were even, so Treville hoped the young man would forgive him the scar. He smelled the poultice that remained nearby, and then with a small shrug, he coated the shoulder wound and the wounds to the ribs and arm liberally before covering them all with bandages.

He turned Aramis onto his back, padding the shoulder with whatever spare clean cloths were still in reach and then pulled his own cloak from his shoulders to cover the young man.

He reached into the medical bag that lay open on the small side table and emptied its remaining contents. _For fever_ was written on a packet he found inside. Treville set that aside and hoped that he would not need to use it. He reached out for the small worn bible. Treville flipped it open his eyes hastily scanning its pages. He paused suddenly as the handwritten words "Have faith and care for each other," burned before his eyes.

He pulled up a chair next to the marksman where he could see the other injured man. Placing a hand on the young man's uninjured shoulder and still holding the bible in his spare hand, Treville watched over the sleeping men and prayed.

oOo


	16. Chapter 16

The first thing he noticed was the smell: amber and something sweet, like vanilla.

His eyelids fought gravity to take in the oddness of his surroundings. Silk drapes hung from a window, a red chaise next to it. A rich carpet lay on the floor while silk pillows were arranged in a pile next to the bed he lay in. Aramis looked down at the white sheets he was laying in and was surprised by the plain cotton. He stroked the soft material and sighed.

"The Madame didn't want you bleeding on her satin sheets," came a voice from a chair near the bed. Aramis turned his head and grinned.

"We need to stop meeting like this, Captain," Aramis said, recalling their first meeting when Aramis had quite literally collapsed at Captain Treville's feet.

Treville grunted a small laugh. His eyes raked over the young man who grimaced as he struggled to sit up.

It took about half a second's pause before Aramis was throwing the sheets off him, fighting to rise. Treville leapt to his feet and pushed the young man back down onto the bed.

"Captain! I need to check on Javier! Where is he? Is he okay? Santi shot him!" Aramis spluttered as he fought the Captain to rise.

"Soldier! Calm down!" barked the Captain and Aramis stilled.

Aramis was sweating and pale after this exertion, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Treville kept his hand on the lad's chest, his blue eyes meeting blazing brown ones in a silent battle as Aramis struggled to control himself.

"Calm down," said Treville softly, "Or the Madame will have me out of here," he said, his lips turning up in a slight smile.

"Captain, please, tell me what happened. Is Javi ok?" Aramis asked earnestly, his eyes rounding. The innocence and eagerness of the expression had Treville once again realizing how young the lad was - barely more than 20 - and made his blood simmer at the thought of how this boy had been mistreated by that blasted Marchand.

"Your friend, Javier, is fine. He's a fair bit better than fine, I'd say. He's recovering in the room across from yours," said Treville. "The Madame, it seems, has designated herself to be his particular bed nurse. He seems to be rather enjoying the recuperative process. He has been asking about you frequently though. He'll be relieved to know you've finally regained consciousness."

Aramis' mouth fell open before breaking into a huge grin which was then replaced by a frown. Treville smirked at the man's reactions.

"How long have I been here? What happened?" he asked.

Treville sighed. "You've been unconscious for nearly three days," Treville said, and Aramis paled.

"Three days?" he gasped. "How?"

"Why don't you first tell me what you can remember?" Treville said.

Aramis frowned and bit his lip. "It was a trap," he muttered finally. "Javier and I and one other, Gustavo, received orders from the General Marchand to infiltrate a Spanish camp that was nearby on French lands. The General had heard that there was an enemy ship that would be arriving bearing arms. He sent us to gather information," said Aramis, his brow furrowing as he recalled their mission. "We didn't have much to go on, but the Spanish found us. We pretended to be performers. The camp was led by three men: Captain Rodrigo, another man named Diego and the Captain's second, Santacruz…Santi. Santi killed Gustavo," said Aramis, his chin dropping and his voice trailing off. Treville gave Aramis a moment to gather himself. Clearly, the loss of this Gustavo still weighed heavily on the man.

Taking a calming, shuddering breath, Aramis winced again as he shifted his shoulder slightly.

"Javier and I found out about the ship's arrival. We sent word to the General Marchand. I made sure to write to you as well," Aramis said catching the Captain's eye. Treville nodded, encouraging the man to continue.

"We waited for you as long as we could once the weapons had been brought ashore. The Spanish were intending to aid our enemy clandestinely. They didn't care about the weapons. It was just supposed to be a spark in the dark to weaken France," Aramis said, shaking his head. "Javi rigged a bomb that would take out the warehouse where the weapons were being stored. The night of our attack, I started a fire to divert the people. I found Diego in an alley…He was…he was trying…" Aramis couldn't finish the thought as his eyes flared with anger.

"Easy," soothed Treville, handing Aramis some water. He drank from the cup slowly to physically drown his rage.

"I fought him, and I killed him. He won't prey on those weaker than him again," Aramis said resolutely, fixing his eyes on Treville, who nodded at him proudly.

"Rodrigo," Aramis continued, "He stabbed me in the back. He was the ringleader. He said he wanted to use me. He said I had a talent for violence that he could harness…he..he wanted to make me a murderer…like Santi," Aramis said, the words of the man echoing in his mind.

"He has a friend! In our camp! A spy!" said Aramis breathing quickly. "I think it's the General. He pretty much said so. He said that a little bird was sending us to him because I was an annoyance. He was supposed to kill us. Tie up loose ends," he said confusedly.

Aramis paused and his face fell. He looked up at the Captain. "Does that mean all of this, Javi's injuries, Gustavo's death…was this all my fault?" he asked, unable to disguise the fear in his voice in his exhausted state.

Treville stared into the wide dark eyes. "No," he said firmly. "Those men, your companions, they, like you, accepted this mission as true soldiers of France. They were betrayed by a commanding officer while in the line of duty. They will be rewarded for their service and the traitor will be brought to justice."

Aramis paused, but when Treville did not go on, he continued.

"I knew Santi had Javier. He had him strung up when I got there. I cut him down and we fought. Santi said…" but Aramis couldn't finish. He wasn't ready yet to ask those questions or give those answers. He couldn't tell Treville what Santi had said. He was afraid of what the Captain's response might be.

Aramis sighed deeply and winced again as his injuries pulled. "I fought Santi. I won," was all he was able to say. "The bomb didn't go off as planned. I had to shoot the target. I didn't stay to see what happened after, but I know I hit it," Aramis finished.

"I'll say. We saw the explosion from two miles out. You managed to make it to the cabin with an injured Javier. From what I saw when I arrived there, he was in bad shape. You managed to remove the bullet and bind his injuries. God knows how you got him onto that horse or into that bed. Where did you learn to treat wounds?"

Aramis blushed. "I like to help out at the medics' tent. One of the physicians taught me. I…want to try to help people," he said, and blushed a little deeper, his eyes burning into Treville's in challenge.

Treville washed a hand down his face as he stared back at the man; the cogs in his brain were whirring quickly as he considered all the young man had said.

"You tended to your brother and almost died as a result. The stab to your shoulder was deep and you had been shot," he said.

"Grazed," corrected Aramis, a slight lift at the corner of his lips.

Treville stared and sighed. "Very well, grazed. You fought three men, losing blood all the while and fired a shot to trigger a massive explosion. Eyewitnesses put you at being over 100 yards out when you made that shot. That's quite impressive. Impressive, but reckless."

Aramis shrugged, and again winced, his other arm going to comfort his shoulder. Treville grinned.

"You saved Javier at a great cost to your own health," said Treville.

"That's because he has nine lives and doesn't take orders well. Thought I told you to leave me," said Javier with a grin, limping into the room on the arm of the Madame. She lowered him into Treville's vacated seat and he kissed her hand as she left. Treville sat on the edge of Aramis' bed, his hand extended again to prevent the young man from rising.

"How are you feeling, Kitten?" Javier asked, eyes full of concern.

"I'm fine," said Aramis with a grimace.

"Course you are," he said disbelievingly, taking the lad's chin in his hand. "Damn," he said as Aramis shook him off and glared at him.

"What?" he asked indignantly.

"You might end up with a scar. I'm afraid it's probably only going to help your romantic hero story," Javier said with a wide grin.


	17. Chapter 17

Javier and Aramis bantered back and forth until the laughter quietly subsided and Aramis turned back to Treville.

"Captain, how did you get here? What happened after we blew the shipment?"

"I'm here because of you two," the Captain answered looking each man in the eye.

"I received your letter just before stepping into a meeting with our generals. I'll admit, I was shocked to receive the missive. Marchand denied any knowledge of your mission," Treville said, the anger obviously growing as he spoke of Marchand's treachery. "He claimed that the three of you were traitors to the crown; that you had deserted to return to your countrymen and join King Philip's army."

Javier snorted. "Countrymen? Gustavo and the lad had never even been to Spain before this! We're French!"

Treville nodded. "Without a doubt," he said, "But Marchand tried to play to prejudices against your bloodlines. I'm not sure if it was the fact that you are all common born or Spanish which bothered him most."

"But Marchand was working with the Spanish," Aramis said, exasperatedly. He was tiring, but he needed answers. He needed to know that Marchand would face consequences for Gustavo's death.

Treville sighed, "Apparently, Marchand and Rodrigo grew up together. They had a mutual desire for manipulation and a disregard for human life. Marchand had purchased his title as a general and has been playing with his men's lives for a while now, sending them into unnecessary dangers without proper support. This has not been the first time I have voiced concerns over some of his decisions. The mission he assigned you on was a suicide mission he had construed with Captain Rodrigo. He saw an opportunity where he could look like he was performing his duty – sending troops out to scout for enemies – but had no intention of acting on it. His plot was to have you executed by the Spanish or to have you tried as traitors to the Crown. He has admitted as much."

"But why?" asked Aramis, incredulously.

"That I cannot say," said Treville sadly. "I cannot claim to understand the inner workings of his mind. As I said, Marchand saw warfare as a game. I'm not sure what you did to make him take notice of you, but I believe he was fixated on your continued survival. As your reputation among the ranks has grown, Marchand grew more and more incensed."

"That's why he always sent you into the worst shooter's positions; why you were sent out as a scout more often than other men," said Javier angrily.

"Then I'm the reason that Gustavo was killed, and why you almost were!" Aramis said sadly and resolvedly, the grief obvious in his eyes.

"No, Kitten, you aren't listening," said Javier, reaching a hand out to grasp Aramis' hand. "None of this was you. This was another madman in a mask. Marchand wore a mask of leadership. We trusted him as our commander and he betrayed us. Gustavo and I, we volunteered to go with you. We did not know what the consequences might be, but the decision to cross into the Spanish camp was one we made. Gustavo's death is not on your hands," he said fervently, searching the young man's eyes.

Aramis said nothing, but kept his head lowered, his dark hair falling in front of his face, shielding his eyes.

Treville continued. "It took some convincing, but the generals permitted me to follow your lead. They felt that the threat you described was worth exploring despite Marchand's protestations. We arrived just in time for your fireworks display. Once settled, the Madame told me of the cabin where I found you, sitting on the ground, bleeding still and barely conscious, a pistol clutched in your hand, still defending Javier. That was three days ago," said Treville.

Javier shook his head and squeezed Aramis' hand again. "Aramis," he muttered. Aramis raised his head to look into the sad dark eyes of Javier.

Treville looked on this silent exchange and smiled slightly. He was a man that knew the powerful bond that grew between brothers-in-arms.

It was clear to the Captain that the lad was waning and needed to rest. When he made the suggestion, Aramis' eyes flashed.

"Please Captain, you need to tell me what will happen to Marchand. I will not rest without knowing," he said, a stern determination written on his face.

"Marchand has been stripped of his command. He is being held in custody. With the letters that I recovered from the Spanish Captain and with your account of these events, I believe the King's justice will be swift for the traitor. King Louis does not take treason lightly," Treville said with a small smirk. "Gustavo will get justice, Aramis. This I can promise you," he said, locking the blazing brown eyes with his own blue ones. They shared a silent moment, an exchange of fealty and trust, before Aramis nodded his head.

"Come," said Javier, "Rest now Kitten. You can talk more later."

Aramis nodded once more as his eyes closed. He fell asleep almost instantly, the conversation clearly having taxed whatever energy he had left.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: I know, I know, another short one, but we're nearing the end, I swear! Thanks for still reading!**_


	18. Chapter 18

It was evening when Aramis next woke.

He was surprised to still see Captain Treville in his room. The Captain seemed to have taken over the table in the corner where he stood reviewing a number of papers.

"You know Captain, there's not much trouble that I can get into from a bed," Aramis said, startling the man from his papers.

Treville smirked at the young man, "You seem likely to find trouble wherever you go – a bed being no exception," he said.

Aramis grinned back, a flicker of challenge and mischief gleaming in his eyes.

Treville moved to the chair next to the bed carrying a bowl.

"Here," he said, passing it to Aramis. "You need to try to eat something to recover your strength."

Aramis took the bowl and meagrely ate a few spoons of the stew enclosed before turning his head away, handing the bowl back to Treville.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I can't yet."

Treville nodded understanding the nausea that could accompany the kind of trauma and blood loss that Aramis' body had suffered. Looking at the young man, Treville frowned; Aramis was staring darkly at the bedsheets, an expression of consternation and doubt clear on his face.

"I often find it's easier to find the answer when I voice the question," he said softly.

Aramis startled and blushed slightly. He hesitated a moment then locked his eyes on the man. He wasn't sure why, but as he looked into the fierce blue eyes of Captain Treville, Aramis felt comforted. He felt defended. He knew that Treville was a man he could trust and one that he knew he would follow to the gates of hell and back if he asked him to.

Aramis sighed deeply. "I've been thinking a lot about what the Spanish leaders said to me," he said slowly. "Rodrigo…he said that he wanted to use me…as a weapon. Santi said that I was a killer like he was. That we were the same…"

"And what do you think?" Treville asked softly.

"I'm not sure," Aramis said hesitantly. "When we were with the Spanish...at first, I wanted to be like Santi. Then he changed...He beat a man...tried to get me to execute him. It was terrible. I saw the cruelty in him and it scared me. But as I held the pistol…I felt torn. I still wanted to please them."

"Did you pull the trigger?" Treville asked.

Aramis shook his head. "I couldn't," he said quietly. "I couldn't kill that man."

"That," Treville said, "is what makes all the difference." Aramis looked up at him uncertainly.

"You did not pull the trigger. You did not kill that man. You chose the path of honour and righteousness, not cruelty and violence," Treville said.

"Gustavo wasn't cruel!" Aramis objected.

Treville raised his hands in defence, "No, he certainly was not," he said. "Gustavo was merciful. He knew the fate of the poor man and knew the torturous position those animals placed you in. He took the decision to kill that man to save you, in a show of affection and mercy."

Aramis shook his head. "Sometimes, when I'm in battle, or like when I found Diego or fought Santi…I can feel this anger inside of me. It's like everything goes dark…" Aramis swallowed thickly. Treville could have sworn he saw a trace of fear creep into the deep, dark eyes of the young man.

"Aramis, why have you killed people?" Treville asked softly.

Aramis was startled by the question. "To defend my country in service to my King," he said.

"Yes," said Treville, "But why else?"

"To defend my brothers in arms…"

"That's true," said Treville. "Why else? Why did you kill Diego?"

"Because he was trying to assault a woman! She was innocent!"

"Exactly. And do you enjoy killing? If you could, would you not spare a life instead of taking it? I've heard of you comforting the dying and you told me yourself that you want to help the injured which is why you haunt the medics' tent. Is death and pain something you enjoy?"

"No," said Aramis defensively.

"Then I say again to you, **_That_** is what makes all the difference. That is what makes you different from those men, those monsters. You, Aramis, are a soldier, yes? And that is a profession of violence, but as you have admitted yourself, you have only killed in the defence of others, be they the weak, the innocent or your brothers. That choice Aramis, to not relish the kill, to do it as duty, not delight, makes all the difference," Treville said.

Aramis looked up into the eyes of the Captain and saw pride staring back at him. Aramis blushed slightly under the gaze, but did not look away.

"Aramis," said Treville, "I was going to speak to you about this when you were a bit more recovered, but perhaps now is the more appropriate time. When we first met, I said that I may have a role for you. I have been recalled to Paris. King Louis has tasked me with forming an elite squadron of guards for his protection. I think that you would be an invaluable member to this regiment."

"Me?" said Aramis incredulously, and Treville nodded.

"I believe that you have the qualities upon which I want to build the foundation of this regiment. You're a man of strength and mercy. You value your role as a soldier and a brother and are guided by honour and a strong moral compass. And by all accounts you're skilled with a pistol and a blade," said Treville with a grin.

Aramis was shocked. "But sir, I'm not noble born."

"Neither am I," said Treville dismissively. "The world is changing – slowly, but it is changing. The King will be looking for the best men, and if that means extending his gaze beyond the nobility, so be it. Luckily, he has asked me to be the assessor of the quality of his men."

"But Captain, are you sure? I'm not sure I'm deserving of this honour…"

Treville smiled again at the young man. "True, you are reckless, stubborn, cheeky, a magnet for trouble, mischievous –"

"You forgot clever, charming and handsome," interrupted Aramis with a grin.

"And modest, apparently," replied Treville with an eye roll, fighting a grin. "Most of all Aramis, you are a good man. I knew that from the moment we met. You don't need to give me an answer now, but I'd like you to consider joining me as one of the King's first Musketeers."

Aramis was speechless. He stared at the Captain and nodded his head slowly.

"I will return to Paris in three days' time. So far I have asked two others who have accepted commissions. If you are to join us on this new challenge, you will let me know by then," said Treville rising. "For now, think about it and get some rest. When you wake, you should try eating once more," he said as he turned and left Aramis alone to contemplate this proposition.

oOo


	19. Chapter 19

Two days later, Aramis sat with Javier and the Madame for lunch. Aramis was restless having, in his opinion, spent far too much time coddled in bed.

"I'm not sure why you're complaining," Javier said with a grin.

"From what I've heard, my girls have been keeping you well entertained," said the Madame. "Actually," she corrected herself, "I believe it's been the other way around. What did I tell you about those eyes breaking hearts?" she said taking his face in her hand.

He took her hand and kissed it. He then gave her a roguish grin and winked at her.

Javier laughed, and pulled her hand away from him. "Listen Kitten, you're still too pretty for my liking. Keep those eyes to yourself or I may need to take one of your nine lives," he said.

The Madame laughed and pressed herself against the Gambler. Aramis beamed at them. Of all the random turns of events that had befallen the pair of them since they had arrived at this town, Aramis did not expect his friend and the Madame to fall in love. Knowing that Javier would be happy and cared for was a relief as Aramis heavily weighed what path he would be taking next.

He and Treville had spoken a few more times throughout his recovery, Treville sharing his thoughts and hopes for the Musketeers. While Aramis was enthralled by the Captain and his ambitions for the Musketeers, something was holding him back. Aramis just couldn't reconcile himself as being worthy of serving in this regiment. He was aware of his flaws and was certain that Treville's assessment of him must have been made in error.

"All for one and one for all," Treville repeated, emphasizing the ideas of brotherhood and honour that he believed would rest at the heart of this elite regiment.

Now, as Aramis sat with Javier, his mind wandered once again to the promises made by the Captain of what the future could hold in store for him.

"Aramis."

"What? Oh, sorry," Aramis said, shaking his head as he refocused on Javier. They were alone now, as the Madame left to tend to some of her guests downstairs.

Javier frowned slightly as he looked on this thoughtful young man who had become his brother. "I asked you what was troubling you," he said plainly.

"Nothing is troubling me," said Aramis.

Javier gave him a sceptical look. "Come now Kitten, whenever you get this quiet, something must be wrong. Otherwise you never stop chatting," he teased with a grin that Aramis returned.

He sighed slightly before responding. "Treville has asked me to return with him to Paris. He has been asked by his Majesty, to assemble an elite guard to protect the King and Queen. Treville has asked me to be a part of it."

"That's quite the honour," said Javier, "and well deserved!"

"Do you really think so?" he asked doubtfully.

"Do you not?" replied Javier.

Aramis sighed in frustration. "The honour is great," he said, "But I am not sure I'm worthy of a place among such men."

Javier looked at Aramis long and hard. "Now look here Aramis," he said sternly, using his real name, which, when coming from the typically jovial man, always had Aramis paying attention. "Do you really not know your worth? Can you really not know why Gaston took you in? Why I followed you to the Spanish? Why Gustavo did what he could to save you? Why Marchand hated and Treville values you so?"

Aramis' eyes narrowed at the uncustomary harsh tone.

"You, Kitten, are the best goddamn example of a soldier that King Louis could wish to have serving under him. You're clever and kind, the way Gaston is. You're shrewd when you need to be, reckless when you want to be and I have no doubt that you would throw yourself from a cliff if it meant defending a brother or your country, the same way Treville would. You don't need to be told you're an exceptional marksman – I'd daresay the best in France! But more than that, you value life and mercy and spend more time trying to put men back together than you do trying to tear them apart."

Aramis' eyes grew soft and he tried to look away but Javier grabbed him, forcing the young man to meet his eyes.

"And if our recent adventures have taught you nothing else, you should know this: You are loved Aramis, by almost everyone who meets you. Do you know what separated you from those animals in the Spanish camp? It's your heart. You instil courage and hope into others through your own faith and bravery and are loved because you love. I would lay down my life for you brother, because I know, without asking, that you would do the same. These are all qualities that Treville needs. He NEEDS you Aramis. Your fate is not to die out here as another nameless soldier, mon ami. Your fate is for a life of great deeds and wild adventures in the service of our King," Javier said.

He paused for a moment as Aramis processed his words. "I like to think that through our years together looking out for one another, Gaston and I may have helped lay the foundation for you…helped you forge yourself into the man you'd like to be. When you join with Treville, you will be taking Gaston, Gustavo, and I with you."

"I don't think I can forgive myself for Gustavo's death," Aramis said meekly.

"Then that would be doing the man a disservice," said Javier gravely. "I don't know why Gustavo agreed to join us, but he saved you for all the reasons I just listed. Honour him by living your life to the fullest. You were born to be a Musketeer, Aramis."

Both men's eyes burned with tears, but neither looked away. Javier just squeezed Aramis' hand tighter until the lad finally nodded.

oOo

The next day, Aramis stood outside Treville's room at the inn, his hand suspended over the door, unsure of whether to knock or not.

"Come in," called Treville knowingly through the closed door causing Aramis to jump slightly.

Aramis pushed the door open to find Treville finishing some last letters as he prepared for his departure. He raised his head as Aramis entered, and lowered his quill.

Aramis stood at attention in front of Treville's desk.

"Captain," he said staring into the man's icy blue eyes. "If you'll still have me, I'd be honoured to serve under you as part of the King's Musketeers. I swear to live my life upholding the tenets of this brotherhood that you have outlined for me. I swear my allegiance to His Majesty, King Louis, and pledge my service to his Musketeers as long as it is within my power to serve. I pledge myself to honour, to justice, and to service to the Crown and will live my days abiding by the motto of the Musketeers, carrying it always within my heart."

"All for one?" Treville asked.

"And one for all," Aramis replied.

oOo

Javier and the Madame stood on the steps of the brothel as Aramis bid them goodbye. Treville and two other men stood waiting by their horses. The other men were older than Aramis, but Javier could tell by the way they handled their horses, and spoke to the stable boys and the townspeople that passed them, that these were good men. He could trust them and Treville to take care of his Kitten.

Aramis took the Madame's hand in his and bowing gracefully before her, he kissed it delicately.

"Thank you for everything," he said. "I owe you my life. If there's anything I can ever do to repay you –" he began, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

"You already have," she said. "You kept your promise, and defended my home and my girls." She smiled at him warmly.

"But I also seemed to have left you with this madman,' he said nodding at Javier.

The Madame grinned back, "Yes, well, I may keep him for a while. You know how French women love a Spaniard," she said with a wink.

Aramis grinned back and kissed her hand again as though she were a queen.

She then stepped back as Javier stepped forward and the two men embraced.

"Goodbye Javi," Aramis said with a grin as he looked at his friend. "What will you do now?" he asked.

"Captain Treville has arranged for my discharge from the army. I like it here," he said with a shrug, a grin and a wink. "Take care of yourself, mon ami. Keep Gaston, Gustavo and I in your heart. I see great things for you, my brother. Don't be too reckless with your nine lives...And try to contain that silver tongue of yours."

Javier looked at Aramis for a moment longer, then taking his new feathered hat off his head, he placed it upon Aramis. "There," he said. "Now you look more like the romantic hero, though you're still too pretty to be a soldier," he teased with a grin.

Aramis laughed, and running his fingers through his dark curls, he resettled the hat on his head.

"I'm not a soldier," he said beaming brightly. "I'm a Musketeer."

oooooooooooooooo

* * *

 _ **A/N: And that, in my opinion, is how the foundation for the Musketeers was laid!**_

 _ **Thank you so much for reading, favouriting, reviewing and following this story. I have an earlier story that I wrote about how Athos joined the Musketeers if you liked this one. It's technically a sequel, but i wrote it before and it inspired this one so it's a post-story prequel? A pre-sequel?**_

 _ **Once again, thanks for sticking with this one!**_


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